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V 


LITTLE 
GUZZY. 


By the Author of 

“HELEN’S BABIES. 





NEW TORE: 


p. pARLETON 




j^UBLISHEI\S, 






THE 



NITED STATE 



LIFE 

INSURANCE COMPANY, 

nr THE CITY OF NEW TORI, 

SiOS, S03 OROAOWAY. 

ORGANIZED 1860. 


JAMES BUELL, . . • President. 

ASSETS, - - - $4,846,032.64 

SURPLUS, - - - $800,000.00 

approved form of Tblicy issued on most 
favorable te7'ms. 


ALL ENDOWMENT POLICIES AND APPROVED CLAIMS 

MATURING IN 1878 

DISCOUNTED - 

on PRESENTATION. 


HENRY W. BALDWIN, 

Bupt. Middle Department. 

pFFICS: PrEXEL puILDlNG, COR AND pROAD pXS., 

NEW YORK. 


A CHARMING BOOK 


JUST PUBLISSED. 

LITTLE GUZZY. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF 


“HELEN’S BABIES.” 


In this country and in Great Britain over 250,000 
copies have been sold of ‘ ‘ Helen’s 'Babies, ” and it is 
safe to say that more than half a miUion, of readers are 
eafjerly waiting for the narrative of the further haps and 
mishaps of those irresistible youths, “ Budge ” and 
“Toddie.” 


“ A new book from the pen of Mr. Habberton, while not an unlooked 
for event, for the reason that he has published so much within the past 
few years that his wealth of resource is proverbial and his industry 
almost as remarkable as was that of either Budge or Toddie, is never- 
theless a very welcome one. Mr. Habberton has written himself into 
the good graces of the public, and with each new venture he finds a 
still warmer welcome than the last received. 

“ The contents consists of a number of stories, of various lengths, 
on every imaginable subject, grave, gay and pathetic, and there is 
such a supply of each that all readers will find something to their 
satisfaction. Already large editions have been sold, and the demand 
grows with the knowledge learned from those who have read it that 
it is the best booh this author has put forth. 

Brooklyn Eagle. 


Ele:^antly printed and illustrated, bound in cloth, price, 
$1.50 ; also a paper covered edition, price, $1.00. 

Sold everywhere and sent by mail bn receipt of price. 

&. W. CAELETON k CO., Publishers, 

9 

Madison Square, New Yorh, 




ITTLE GUZZY 


AND OTHER STORIES. 


BY 

THE AUTHOR OP 


“HELEN’S BABIES.” 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. , 



NEW YORK: 

Copyright, 1878, by 

G. IV. Carleton & Co., Publishers. 

LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. 


MDCCCLXXVIII. 




Copyrighted by Frank Leslie, 1877 . 

> 


Trow’s 

Printing & Bookbinding Co., 
205-213 East i-2t/i St., 

NE;W YORK. 


To FRANK LESLIE, 


il Who, while other publishers were advising the writer 
of these sketches to write, supplied the author with 
encouragement in the shape of a publishing medium 
md the lucre which all literary men despise but long 
,for, this volume is respectfully dedicated by 

The Author- 


1 



LITTLE GUZZT. 


B OWEETON was a very quiet place. It had no factories, 
mills, or mines, or other special inducements to offer 
people looking for new localities ; and as it was not on a rail- 
road line, nor even on an important post-road, it gained but 
few new inhabitants. 

Even of travelers Bowerton saw very few. An occasional 
enterprising peddler or venturesome thief found his way to 
the town, and took away such cash as came in their way 
while pursuing their respective callings ; but peddlers were 
not considered exactly trustworthy as news-bearers, while 
house-breakers, when detained long enough to be questioned, 
were not in that communicative frame of mind which is 
essential to one who would interest the general public. 

When, therefore, the mail-coach one day brought to Bow- 
erton an old lady and a young one, who appeared to be 
mother and daughter, excitement ran high. 

The proprietor of the Bowerton House, who was his own 
clerk, hostler, and table-waiter, was for a day or two the 
most popular man in town ; even the three pastors of the 
trio of churches of Bowerton did not consider it beneath 
their dignity to join the little groups which were continually 
to be seen about the person of the landlord, and listening to 
the meagre intelligence he was able to give. 

The old lady was quite feeble, he said, and the daughter 
was very affectionate and very handsome. He didn’t know 
where they were going, but they registered themselves from 
Boston. Name was Wyett — young lady’s name was Helen. 


PAST FINDING OUT. 


S f 

He hoped they wouldn’t leave for a long time — travelers! 
weren’t any too plenty at Bowerton, and landlords found it^ 
hard work to scratch along. Talked about locating at Bow-^ 
erton if they could find a suitable cottage. Wished ’em well, 
but hoped they’d take their time, and not be in a hurry to 
leave the Bowerton House, where — if Ae did say it as shouldn’t 
— they found good rooms and good board at the lowest liv- 
ing price. 

The Wyetts finally found a suitable cottage, and soon 
afterward they began to receive heavy packages and boxes 
from the nearest railway station. 

Then it was that the responsible gossips of Bowerton 
were, worked nearly to death, but each one was sustained by 
a fine professional pride which enabled them to pass credit- 
ably through the most exciting period. 

For years they had skillfully pried into each other’s pri- 
vate affairs, but then they had some starting-place, some clue • 
now, alas ! there was not in all Bowerton a single person 
who had emigrated from Boston, where the Wyetts had lived. 
Worse still, there was not a single Bowertonian who had a 
Boston correspondent. 

To be sure, one of the Bowerton pastors had occasional 
letters from a missionary board, whose headquarters were 
at the Hub, but not even the most touching appeals from 
members of his flock could induce him to write the board con- 
cerning the newcomers. 

But Bowerton was not to be balked in its striving after 
accurate intelligence. 

From Squire Brown, who leased Mrs. Wyett a cottage, it 
was learned that Mrs. Wyett had made payment by check 
on an excellent Boston bank. The poor but respectable 
female who washed the floors of the cottage informed the 
public that the whole first floor was to. be carpeted with 
Brussels. 

The postmaster’s clerk ascertained and stated that Mrs. 
Wyett received two religious papers per week, whereas no 
one else in Bowerton took more than one. 


THE PATENT OF AKISTOCEACY. 


Tlie grocer said tliat Mrs. Wyett was, by jingo, the sort of 
person he liked to trade with — wouldn’t have anything that 
wasn’t the very best. 

The man who helped to do the unpacking was willing to 
take oath that among the books were a full set of Barnes, 
Notes, and two sets of commentaries, while Mrs. Battle, who 
lived in the house next to the cottage, and who was suddenly, 
on hearing the crashing of crockery next door, moved to 
neighborly kindness to the extent of carrying in a nice hot 
pie to the newcomers, declared that, as she hoped to be saved, 
there wasn’t a bit of crockery in that house which wasn’t 
pure china. 

Bowerton asked no more. Brussels carpets, religious 
tendencies, a bank account, the ability to live on the best 
that the market afforded, and to eat it from china, and china 
only — why, either one of these qualifications was a voucher 
of respectability, and any two of them constituted a patent 
of aristocracy of the Bowerton standard. 

Bowerton opened its doors, and heartily welcomed Mrs. 
and Miss Wyett. 

It is grievous to relate, but the coming of the estimable 
people was the cause of considerable trouble in Bowerton. 

Bowerton, like all other places, contained lovers, and 
some of the young men were not so blinded by the charms of 
their own particular lady friends as to be oblivious to the 
beauty of Miss Wyett. 

She was extremely modest and retiring, but she was also 
unusually handsome and graceful, and she had an expres- 
sion which the young men of Bowerton could not understand, 
But which they greatly admired. 

It was useless for plain girls to say that they couldn’t 
see anything remarkable about Miss Wyett ; it was equally 
unavailing for good-looking girls to caution their gallants 
against too much of friendly regard even for a person of 
whose antecedents they really knew scarcely anything. 

Even casting chilling looks at Miss Wyett when they met 
her failed to make that unoffending young lady any less 


10 


“who can the lucky man be?” 


attractive to tlie young men of Bowerton, and critical analy- 
sis of Miss Wyett’s style of dressing only provoked manly 
comparisons, wkicli were as exasperating as they were unar- 
tistic. 

Finally Jack Whiffer, who was of a first family, and was 
a store-clerk besides, proposed to Miss Wyett and was de- 
clined ; then the young ladies of Bowerton thought that per- 
haps Helen Wyett had some sense after all. 

'■Then young Baggs, son of a deceased Congressman,wished 
to make Miss Wyett mistress of the Baggs mansion and 
sharer of the Baggs money, but his offer was rejected. 

^ Upon learning this fact, the maidens of Bowerton pro- 
nounced Helen a noble-spirited girl to refuse to take Baggs 
away from the dear, abused woman who had been engaged 
to him for a long time. 

Several other young men had been seen approaching the 
Wyett cottage in the full glory of broadcloth and hair-oil, 
and were noticeably depressed in spirits for days afterward, 
and the native ladies of marriageable age were correspond- 
ingly elated when they heard of it. 

When at last the one unmarried minister of Bowerton, 
who had been the desire of many hearts, manfully admitted 
that he had proposed and been rejected, and that Miss Wyett 
had informed him that she was already engaged, all the 
Bowerton girls declared that Helen Wyett was a darling old 
thing, and that it was perfectly shameful that she couldn’t 
be let alone. 

After thus proving that their own hearts were in the 
right place, all the Bowerton girls asked each other who the 
lucky man could be. 

Of course he couldn’t be a Bowerton man, for Miss Wyett 
was seldom seen in company with any gentleman. He must 
be a Boston man — he was probably very literary — Boston 
men always were. 

Besides, if he was at all fit for her, he must certainly be 
very handsome. 

Suddenly Miss Wyett became the rage among the Bow- 


guzzy’s vengeance. 


11 


©rton girls. BlusHngly and gushingly they told her of their 
own loves, and they showed her their lovers, or pictures of 
those gentlemen. 

,Miss Wyett listened, smiled and sympathized, but when 
they sat silently expectant of similar confidences, they were 
disappointed, and when they endeavored to learn even the 
slightest particular of Helen "Wyett’s love, she changed the 
subject of conversation so quickly and decidedly that fhev 
had not the courage to renew the attempt. 

But while most Bowertonians despaired of learning much 
more about the Wyetts, and especially about Helen’s lover, 
there was one who had resolved not only to know the favored 
man, but to do him some frightful injury, and that was little 
Guzzy. 

‘Though Guzzy’s frame was small, his soul was immense^ 
and Helen’s failure to comprehend Guzzy’s greatness when 
he laid it all at her feet had made Guzzy exttemely bilious 
and gloomy. 

Many a night, when Guzzy’s soul and body should have 
been taking their rest, they roamed in company up and down 
the quiet street on which the Wyetts’ cottage was located, 
and Guzzy’s eyes, instead of being fixed on sweet pictures in 
dreamland, gazed vigilantly in the direction of Mrs/Wyett’s 
gate. 

He did not meditate inflicting personal violence on the 
hated wretch who had snatched away Helen from his hopes 
— no, personal violence could produce suffering but feeble 
compared with that under which the victim would writhe 
as Guzzy poured forth the torrent of scornful invective which 
he had compiled from the memories of his bilious brain and 
the pages of his “Webster Unabridged.” 

At length there came a time when most men would have 
despaired. 

Love is warm, but what warmth is proof against the 
chilling blasts and pelting rains of the equinoctial storm ? 

But then it was that the fervor of little Guzzy’s soul 
showed itself ; for, wrapped in the folds of a waterproof over- 


12 


gtjzzy’s reward. 


coat, he paced Dis accustomed beat witb the calmness of a 
faithful policeman. 

And he had his reward. 

As one night he stood unseen against the black back- 
ground of a high wall, opposite the residence of Mrs. Wyett, 
he heard the gate — her gate — creak on its hinges. 

It could be no ordinary visitor, for it ^s after nine o’clock 
— it must be he. 

Ha ! the lights were out ! He would be disappointed, 
the villain ! Now was the time, while his heart would be 
bleeding with sorrow, to wither him with reproaches. To be 
sure, he seemed a large man, while Guzzy was very small, 
bjit Guzzy believed his own thin legs to be faithful in an 
emergency. 

The unknown man knocked softly at the front-door, then 
he seemed to tap at several of the windows. 

Suddenly he raised one of the windows, and Guzzy, who 
had not until then suspected that he had been watching a 
house-breaker, sped away like the wind and alarmed the soli- 
tary constable of Bowerton. 

That functionary requested Guzzy to notify Squire Jones, 
justice of the peace, that there was business ahead, and then 
hastened away himself. 

Guzzy labored industriously for some moments, for Squire 
Jones was very old, and very cautious, and very stupid ; but 
he was at last fully aroused, and then Guzzy had an oppor- 
tunity to reflect on the greatness which would be his when 
Bowerton knew of his meritorious action. 

And Helen Wyett — ^what would be her shame and con- 
trition when she learned that the man whose love she had 
rejected had become the preserver of her peace of mind and 
her portable personal property ? 

He could not exult over her, for that would be unchival- 
rous ; but would not her own conscience reproach her bit- 
terly ? 

Perhaps she would burst into tears in the court-room, 
and thank him effusively and publicly ! Guzzy’ s soul swelled 


THE ESCAPED CONVICT. 


13 


ftt tlie tlioTiglit, and lie rapidly composed a reply appropri- 
ate to sucli an occasion. Suddenly Guzzy heard footsteps 
approaching, and voices in earnest altercation. 

Guzzy hastened into the squire’s office, and struck an at- 
titude befitting the importance of a principal witness. 

An instant later the constable entered, followed by two 
smart-looking men^who had between them a third man, 
securely handcuffed. 

The prisoner was a very handsome, intelligent-looking 
young man, except for a pair of restless, over-bright eyes. 

“ There’s a difference of opinion ’bout who the prisoner 
belongs to,” said the constable, addressing the squire; and 
we agreed to leave the matter to you. When I reached the 
house, these gentlemen already had him in hand, and they 
claim he’s an escaped convict, and that they ve tracked him 
from the prison right straight to Bowerton.” 

The prisoner gave the officers a very wicked look, while 
these officials produced their warrants and handed them to 
the justice for inspection. 

Guzzy seemed to himself to grow big with accumulating 
importance. 

“ The officers seem to be duly authorized,” said the squire, 
after a long and minute examination of their papers but 
they should identify the prisoner as the escaped convict for 
whom they are searching.” 

“ Here’s a description,” said one of the officers, in an 
advertisement : ‘ Escaped from the Penitentiary, on the — th 
instant, William Beigh, alias Bay Billy, alias Handsome ; 
age, twenty-eight; height, five feet ten; complexion dark, 
hair black, eyes dark brown, mole on left cheek ; general ap- 
pearance '•'andsome, manly, and intelligent. A skillful and 
Lngerous burglar. Sentenced in 1866 to five years impris- 
onment-two years yet to serve.’ That,” contmued the 
officer, “ describes him to a dot ; and, if there’s any further 

doubt, look here 1 . . 

As he spoke, he unclasped a cloak which the prisoner 

■wore, and disclosed tlie striped uniform of tlie prison. 


14 


GOOD ADVICE TO BAY BILLY. 


There seems no reasonable doubt in this case, and the 
prisoner will have to go back to prison/^ said the justice. 

“ But I must detain him until I ascertain whether he has 
stolen anything from Mrs. Wyett’s residence. In case he 
has done so, we can prosecute at the expiration of his 
term.” 

The prisoner seemed almost convulsed with rage, though 
of a sort which one of the officers whispered to the other ho 
did not exactly understand. 

Guzzy eyed him resentfully, and glared at the officers 
with considerable disfavor. 

Guzzy was a law-abiding man, but to have an expected 
triumph belittled and postponed because of foreign interfer- 
ence was enough to blind almost any man’s judicial eyesight- 

“ Well,” said one of the officers, “ put him in the lock-up’ 
and investigate in the morning ; we won’t want to start until 
then, after the tramp he’s given us. Oh, Bay Billy, you’re 
a smart one — ^no mistake about that. Why in thunder don’t 
you use your smartness in the right way? — there’s more 
money in business than in cracking cribs.” 

“ Besides the moral advantage,” added the squire, who 
was deacon as well, and who, now that he had concluded his 
official duties, was not adverse to laying down the higher 
law. 

“Just so,” exclaimed the officer; “ and for his family’s 
sake, too. Why, would you believe it, judge ? they say Billy 
has one of the finest wives in the commonwealth — handsome, 
well-educated, religious, rich, and of good family. Of course 
she didn’t know what his profession was when she married 
him.”* 

Again the prisoner seemed convulsed with that strange 
rage which the officer did not understand. But the officers 
were tired, and they were too familiar with the disapproba- 
tion of prisoners to be seriously affected by it ; so, after an 
appointment by the squire, and a final glare of indignation 
from little Guzzy, they started, under the constable’s guid- 

Tce, to the lock-up. 


DELIVERANCE NEAR. 


15 


Suddenly the door was thrown open, and there appeared, 
with uncovered head, streaming hair, weeping yet eager 
eyes, and mud-splashed garments, Helen Wyett. 



“ V. 2 luAY AS WELL FINISH THIS CASE TO-NIGHT, IF MISS WYETT IS PLEPALED 
TO TESTIFY,” SAID THE JUDGE. 

Every one started, the officers stared, the squire looked 
a “degree or two less stupid, and hastened to button his 
dressing-gown ; the restless eyes of the convict fell on 


16 “ONEQUALLY YOKED WITH AN ONBELIEYER. 

Helen’s beautiful face, and were restless no longer ; while 
Mttle Guzzy assumed a dignified pose, which did not seem 
at all consistent with his confused and shamefaced counts- 

nance. , • -wr i*. 

“ We may as well finish this case to-night, if Miss Wyett 

is prepared to testify,” said the squire, at length. “ Have 
you lost anything. Miss Wyett?” 

“ No,” said Helen ; “ but I have found my dearest treas- 
ure — my own husband !” 

And putting her arms around the convict’s neck, she 
kissed him, and then, dropping her head upon his shoulder, 
she sobbed violently. 

The squire was startled into complete wakefulness, and 
as the moral aspect of the scene presented itself to him, he 
groaned : 

“ Onequally yoked with an onbeliever.” 

- The officers looked as if they were depraved yet remorse- 
ful convicts themselves, while little Guzzy’s diminutive di- 
mensions seemed to contract perceptibly. * 

At length the convict quieted his wife, and persuaded 
her to return to her home, with a promise from the officers 
that she should see him in the morning. 

Then the officers escorted the prisoner to the jail, and 
Guzzy sneaked quietly out, while the squire^ retired to his 
slumbers, with the firm conviction that if Solomon had been 
a justice of the peace at Bowerton, his denial of the newness 
of anything under the sun would never have been made. 

Now, the jail at Bowerton, likq everything else in the 
town, was decidedly antiquated, and consisted simply of a 
thickly-walled room in a building which contained several 
offices and living apartments. 

It was as extensive a jail as Bowerton needed, and was 
fully strong enough to hold the few drunken and quarrel- 
some people who were occasionally lodged in it. 

But Beigh, cdias Bay Billy, alias Handsome, was no ordi- 
nary and vulgar jail-bird, the officers told him, and, that he 
and they might sleep securely, they considered it advisable 
to carefully iron his hands. 


THE bookkeeper’s UNACCUSTOMED LABOR. 17 

A couple of hours rolled away, and left Beigh still sitting 
moody and silent on the single bedstead in the Bowerton 
jail. 

Suddenly the train of his thoughts was interrupted by 
a low “ stt — stt ” from the one little, high, grated window of 
the jail.” 

The prisoner looked up quickly, and saw the shadow of 
a man’s head outside the grating. 

“ Hello !” whispered Beigh, hurrying under the window. 

“ Are you alone ?” inquired the shadow. 

“ Yes,” replied the prisoner. 

“ All right, then,” whispered the voice. “ There are se- 
crets which no vulgar ears should hear. My name is Guzzy. 
I have been in love with your wife. I hadn’t any idea she 
was married ; but I’ve brought you my apology.” 

“ I’ll forgive you,” whispered the criminal ; but ” 

“ ’Tain’t that kind of apology,” whispered Guzzy. “ It’s 
a steel one — a tool — one of those things that gunsmiths 
shorten gun-barrels with. If they can saw a rifle-barrel in 
two in five minutes, you ought to get out of here inside of 
an hour.” 

“ Not quite,” whispered Beigh. “ My hands and feet are 
ironed.” 

“ Then I’ll do the job myself,” whispered Guzzy, as he 
applied the tool to one of the bars ; for it will be daylight 
within two hours.” 

The unaccustomed labor — for Guzzy was a bookkeeper — 
made his arms ache severely, but still he sawed away. 

He wondered what his employer would say should he be 
found out, but still he sawed. 

Visions of the uplifted hands and horror-struck counte- 
nances of his brother Church-members came before his eyes, 
and the effect of his example upon his Sunday-school class, 
should he be discovered, tormented his soul ; but neither of 
these influences affected his saw. 

Bar after bar disappeared, and when Guzzy finally stop- 
ped to rest, Beigh saw a small square of black sky, unob- 
structed by any bars whatever. 


18 


EUN, GOD BLESS YOU, EUN 1 


whispered Guzzj, “I’ll drop in a small box you 
can stand on, so you can put your hands out and let me file 
off your irons. I brought a file or two, thinking they might 
come handy.” 

Five minutes later the convict, his hands unbound, 
crawled through the window, and was helped to the ground 
by Guzzy. 



Seizing the file from the little bookkeeper, Beigh com- 
menced freeing his feet. Suddenly he stopped and whis- 
pered : 

You d better go now. I can take care of myself, but if 
those cursed officers should take a notion to look around, it 
would go hard with you. Eun, God bless you, run !” 

But little Guzzy straightened himself and folded his 
arms. 


GETTING OUT OP HEAEINQ. 


19 


The convict rasped away rapidly, and finally dropped the 
file and the fragments of the last fetter. Then he seized 
little Guzzy’s hand. 

“ My friend,’* said he, “ criminal though I am, I am man 
enough to appreciate your manliness and honor. I think I 
am smart enough to keep myself free, now I am out of jaiL 
But, if ever you want a friend, tell Helen, she will know 
where I am, and I will serve you, no matter what the risk 
and pain.” 

“ Thank you,” said Guzzy ; “ but the only favor I’ll ever 
ask of you might as well be named now, and you ought to 
be able to do it without risk or pain either. It’s only this : 
be an honest man, for Helen’s sake.” 

Beigh dropped his head. 

“There are men who would die daily for the sake of 
making her happy, but you’ve put it out of their power, see- 
ing you’ve married her,” continued Guzzy. “ Tm nothing to 
her, and can’t be, but for her sake to-night I’ve broken open 
the gunsmith’s shop, broken a jail, and ” — ^here he stooped, 
and picked up a bundle — “ robbed my own employer’s store 
of a suit of clothes for you, so you mayn’t be caught again 
in those prison stripes. If I’ve made myself a criminal for 
her sake : can’t her husband be an honest man for the same 
reason ?” 

The convict wrung the hand of his preserver. He seemed 
to be trying to speak, but to have some great obstruction in 
his throat. 

Suddenly a bright light shone on the two men, and a 
voice was heard exclaiming, in low but very ferocious 
tones : 

“ Do it, you scoimdrel, or I’ll put a bullet through your 
head !” 

Both men looked up to the window of the cell, and saw a 
bull’s-eye lantern, the muzzle of a pistol, and the face of the 
Bowerton constable. 

The constable’s right eye, the sights of his pistol and 
the breast of the convict were on the same visual line. 


20 


THE PROMISE. 


Without altering his position or that of his weapon 
constable whispered : 

‘‘ I’ve had you covered for the last ten minutes. I only 
held in to find out who was helping you ; but I heard too 
much for my credit as a faithful officer. Now, what are you 
going to do ?” 

“ Turn over a new leaf,” said the convict, bursting into 
tears. 

“ Then get out,” whispered the officer, “ and be lively, 
too — it’s almost daybreak.” 

“ I’ll tell you what to do,” said little Guzzy, when the 
constable hurriedly whispered : 

“ Wait until I get out of hearing.” 

* * * * * * * 

The excitement which possessed Bowerton the next 
morning, when the events of the previous night were made 
public, was beyond the descriptive powers of the best lin- 
guists in the village. 

Helen Wyett a burglar’s wife ! 

At first the Bowertonians scarcely knew whether it would 
be proper to recognize her at all, and before they were able 
to arrive at a conclusion the intelligence of the convict’s 
escape, the breaking open of the gunsmith’s shop, the find- 
ing of the front door of Cashing’s store ajar, and the dis- 
covery by Cashing that at least one suit of valuable clothing 
had been taken, came upon the astonished villagers and ren- 
dered them incapable of reason, and of every other mental 
attribute except wonder. 

That the prisoner had an accomplice seemed certain, and 
some suspicious souls suggested that the prisoner’s wife 
might have been the person ; but as one of the officers 
declared he had watched her house all night for fear of some 
such attempt, that theory was abandoned. 

Under the guidance of the constable, who zealously 
assisted them in every possible manner, the officers searched 
every house in Bowerton that might seem likely to afford a 
hiding-place, and then departed on what they considered the 
prisoner’s most likely route. 


21 


THE squire’s influence. 

For some days Helen Wyett gave the Bowertonians no 
occasion to modify their conduct toward her, for she kept 
herself constantly out of sight. 

When, however, she did appear in the street again, she 
met only the kindest looks and salutations, for the venerable 
Squire Jones had talked incessantly in praise of her courage 
and affection, and the Squire’s fellow-townsmen knew that 
when their principal magistrate was affected to tenderness 
and mercy, it was from causes which would have simply 
overwhelmed any ordinary mortal. 

It was months before Bowerton gossip descended again 
to its normal level ; for a few weeks after the escape of 
Beigh, little Guzzy, who had never been supposed to have 
unusual credit, and whose family certainly hadn’t any money, 
left his employer and started an opposition store. 

Next to small scandal, finance was the favorite burden of 
conversation at Bowerton, so the source of Guzzy’s sudden 
prosperity was so industriously sought and surmised that 
the gossips were soon at needles’ points about it. 

Then it was suddenly noised abroad that Mrs. Baggs, 
Sr., who knew everybody, had given Guzzy a letter of intro- 
duction to the Governor of the State. 

Bowerton was simply confounded. What could he want ? 
The Governor had very few appointments at his disposal, 
and none of them were fit for Guzzy, except those for which 
Guzzy was not fit. 

Even the local politicians became excited, and both sides 
consulted Guzzy. 

Finally, when Guzzy started for the State capital, and 
Helen Wyett, as people still called her, accompanied him, 
the people of Bowerton put on countenances of hopeless 
resignation, and of a mute expectation which nothing could 
astonish. 

It might be an elopement — it might be that they were 
going as missionaries ; but no one expressed a positive 
opinion, and every one expressed a perfect willingness to 
believe anything that was supported by even a shadow of 
proof. 


22 


guzzy’s customers increase. 


Their mute agony was suddenly ended, for within forty- 
eight hours Guzzy and his traveling companion returned. 

The latter seemed unusually happy for the wife of a con- 
vict, while the former went straight to Squire Jones and the 
constable’s. 

Half an hour later all Bowerton knew that William Beigh, 
alias Bay Billy, alias Handsome, had received a full and free 
pardon from the Governor. 

The next day Bowerton saw a tall, handsome stranger, 
with downcast eyes, walk rapidly through the principal 
street and disappear behind Mrs. Wyett’s gate. 

A day later, and Bowerton was electrified by the intelli- 
gence that the ex-burglar had been installed as a clerk in 
Guzzy’s store. 

People said that it was a shame — that nobody knew how 
soon Beigh might take to his old tricks again. Nevertheless, 
they crowded to Guzzy’s store, to look at him, until shrewd 
people began to wonder whether Guzzy hadn’t really taken 
Beigh as a sort of advertisement to draw trade. 

A few months later, however, they changed their opin- 
ions, for the constable, after the expiration of his term of 
office, and while under the influence of a glass too much, 
related the whole history of the night 6f Beigh’s first arrival 
at Bowerton. 

The Bowertonians were law-abiding people ; but, some- 
how, Guzzy’s customers increased from that very day, and 
his prosperity did not decline even after “ Guzzy & Beigh ” 
was the sign over the door of the store which had been built 
and stocked with Mrs. Wyett’s money. 


THE SCHOOLTEACHEE AT BOTTLE FTiAT. 


I T certainly was hard. What was the freedom of a country 
in which the voice of the original founders was spent 
in vain? Had not they, the “Forty” miners of Bottle 
Flat, really* started the place ? Hadn’t they located claims 
there? Hadn’t they contributed three ounces each, osten- 
sibly to set up in business a brother miner who unfortun- 
ately lost an arm, but really that a saloon might be opened, 
and the genuineness and stability of the camp be assured? 
Hadn’t they promptly killed or scared away every China- 
man who had ever trailed his celestial pig-tail into the Flat? 
Hadn’t they cut and beaten a trail to Placerville, so that 
miners could take a run to that city when the Flat became 
too quiet? Hadn’t they framed the squarest betting code 
in the whole diggings ? And when a ’Frisco man basely 
attempted to break up the camp by starting a gorgeous 
saloon a few miles up the creek, hadn’t they gone up in a 
body and cleared him out, giving him only ten minutes in 
which to leave the creek for ever? All this they had done, 
actuated only by a stern sense of duty, and in the patient 
anticipation of the reward which traditionally crowns vir- 
tuous action. But now — oh, ingratitude of republics ! — a 
schoolteacher was to be forced upon Bottle Flat in spite of 
all the protest which they, the oldest inhabitants, had made ! 

Such had been their plaint for days, but the sad excite- 
ment had not been productive of any fights, for the few 
married men in the camp prudently absented theinselves at 


24 


what’s best to be done ? 


night from “The Nugget” saloon, where the matter was 
fiercely discussed every evening. There was, therefore, such 
an utter absence of diversity of opinion, that the most 
quarrelsome searched in vain for provocation. 

On the afternoon of the day on which the opening 
events of this story occurred, the boys, by agreement, stopped 
work two hours earlier than usual, for the stage usually 
reached Bottle Flat about two hours before sundown, and 
the one of that day was to bring the hated teacher. The 
boys had wellnigh given up the idea of further resistance, 
yet curiosity has a small place even in manly bosoms, and 
they could at least look hatred at the detested pedagogue. 
So about four o’clock they gathered at The Nugget so 
suddenly, that several fathers, who were calmly drinking 
inside, had barely time to escape through the back win- 
dows. 

The boys drank several times before composing them- 
selves into their accustomed seats and leaning-places ; but 
it was afterward asserted, and Southpaw — the one-armed 
bar-keeper — cited as evidence, that none of them took sugar 
in their liquor. They subjected their sorrow to homoeo- 
pathic treatment by drinking only the most raw and rasping 
fluids that the bar afforded. 

The preliminary drinking over, they moodily whittled, 
chewed, and expectorated ; a stranger would have imagined 
them a batch of miserable criminals awaiting transportation. 

The silence was finally broken by a decided-looking 
red-haired man, who had been neatly beveling the door-post 
with his knife, and who spoke as if his words only by great 
difficulty escaped being bitten in two. 

“We ken burn down the schoolhouse right before his 
face and eyes, and then mebbe the State Board ’ll git our 
idees about eddy cation.” 

“Twon’t be no use, Mose,” said Judge Barber, whose 
legal title was honorary, and conferred because he had spent 
some time in a penitentiary in the East. “Them State 
Board fellers is wrong, but they’ve got grit, ur they’d never 


who’s to marhy the widder? 


25 


liev got tlie sclioolhouse done after we rode the contractor 
out uv tlie Flat on one of his own boards. Besides, some uv 
em might think we wuz rubbin’ uv it in, an’ next thing you 
know’d they’d be buildin’ us a jail.” 

“Can’t we buy off these young uns’ folks?” queried an 
angular fellow from Southern Illinois. “ They’re a mizzable 
j)ack of shotes, an’ I b’leeve they’d all leave the camp fur a 
few ounces.” 

“Ye — es,” drawled the judge, dubiously; “but thar’s 
the Widder Ginneys — she'd pan out a pretty good school- 
room-full with her eight young uns, an’ there ain’t ounces 
enough in t*he diggin’s to make her leave while Tom 
Ginneys’ s coffin’s roostin’ under the rocks.” 

“ Then,” said Mose, the first speaker, his words escaping 
with even more difficulty than before, “ throw around keards 
to see who’s to marry the widder, an’ boss her young uns. 
The feller that gits the fust Jack’s to do the job.” 

“Meanin’ no insult to this highly respectable crowd,” 
said the judge, in a very bland tone, and inviting it to walk 
up to the bar and specify its consolation, “I don’t b’leeve 
there’s one uv yer the widder’d hev.” The judge’s ey\ 
glanced along the line at the bar, and he continued softly, 
but ill decided accents — “Not a cussed one. But,” added 
the judge, passing his pouch to the barkeeper, “if anything’s 
to be done, it must be done lively, fur the stage is pretty 
nigh here. Tell ye what’s ez good ez ennything. We’ll 
crowd around the stage, fust thro win’ keards for who’s to 
put out his hoof to be accidently trod onto by the infernal 
teacher ez he gits out. Then satisfaction must be took out 
uv the teacher. It’ll be a mean job, fur these teachers 
hevn’t the spunk of a coyote, an’ ten to one he won’t hev no 
shootin’ irons, so the job ’ll hev to be done with fists.” 

“Good!” said Mose. “The crowd drinks with me to a 
square job, and no backin’. Chuck the pasteboards, jedge 
The — dickens ! ” For Mose had got first Jack. 

“Square job, and no backin’,” said the judge, with a 
grin. There’s the stage noiv — hurry up, fellers 1 ” 


26 


fM Tl^E TEACHER, GENTLEMEir. 


‘llie stage drew up with a crash in front of The Nugget, 
and the passengers, outside and in, but none looking teach- 
erish, hurried into the saloon. The boys scarcely knew 
whether to swear from disappointment or gratification, when 
a start from Mose drew their attention again to the stage. 
On the top step appeared a small shoe, above which was 
visible a small section of stocking far whiter and smaller 
than is usual in the mines. In an instant a similar shoe 
appeared oli the lower step, and the boys saw, successively, 
the edge of a dress, a waterproof cloak, a couple of small 
gloved hands, a bright muffler, and a pleasant face covered 
with brown hair, and a bonnet. Then they heard a cheerbil 
voice say : 

“I’m the teacher, gentlemen — can any one show me the 
schoolhouse ? ” 

The miserable Mose looked ghastly, and tottered. A 
suspicion of a wink graced the judge’s eye, but he exclaimed 
in a stern, low tone : “ Square job, an’ no backin’,” upon 
which Mose took to his heels and the Placerville trail. 

The judge had been a married man, so he promptly 
answered : 

“I’ll take yer thar, mum, ez soon ez I git yer baggage.” 

“Thank you,” said the teacher; “that valise under the 
seat is alL” 

The judge extracted a small valise marked “Huldah 
Brc (TD,” offered his arm, and he and the teacher walked off 
before the astonished crowd as naturally as if the appear- 
ance of a modest-looking young lady was an ordinary occur- 
, rence at the Flat. 

The stage refilled, and rattled away from the dumb and 
staring crowd, and *h3 judge returned. 

“Well, boys,” said he, ‘ yer got to marry tioo w^omen, 
now, to stop that school, an’ j^ou’ll find this un more par- 
ticler than the widder. I just tell yer what it is about that 
school — it’s agoin’ to go on, spite uv any jackasses that 
wants it broke np ; an’ any gentleman that’s insulted ken git 
satisfaction by ” 


THE SCHOOLTEACHER RECEIYES A CALL. 27 

“Who wants it broke np, you old fool?” demanded 
Toledo, a man who had been named after the city from 
which he had come, and who had been from the first one of 
the fiercest opponents of the school. “I move the appoint- 
ment uv a committee of three to wait on the teacher, see if 
the school wants anything money can buy, take up subscrip- 
tions to git it, an’ lay out any feller that don’t come down 
with the dust when he’s went fur.” 

“Hurray!” “Bully!” “Good!” “Sound!” “Them’s the 
talk!” and other sympathetic expressions, were heard fi-om 
the members of the late anti-school party. 

The judge, who, by virtue of age, was the master of cere- 
monies and general moderator of the camp, very promptly 
appointed a committee, consisting of Toledo and two miners, 
whose attire appeared the most respectable in the place, and 
instructed them to wait on the schoolmarm, and tender her 
the cordial support of the miners. 

Early the next morning the committee called at the 
schoolhouse, attached to which were two small rooms in 
which teachers were expected to keep house. 

The committee found the teacher “putting to rights” 
the schoolroom. Her dress was tucked up, her sleeves 
rolled, her neck hidden by a bright handkerchief, and her 
hair “a-blowin’ all to glory,” as Toledo afterward expressed 
it. Between the exertion, the bracing air, and the excite- 
ment caused by the newness of everything. Miss Brown’s 
pleasant face was almost handsome. 

“Mornin’, marm,” said Toledo, raising a most shocking 
hat, while the remaining committee - men expeditiously 
ranged themselves behind him, so that the teacher might by 
no chance look into their eyes. 

“Good-morning, gentlemen,” said Miss Brown, with a 
cheerful smile; “please be seated. I suppose you wish to 
speak of your children?” 

Toledo, who was a very young man, blushed, and the 
whole committee was as uneasy on its feet as if its boots 
had been soled with fly-blisters. Finally, Toledo answered : 


28 


THE BOYS HEZ GOT THE DUST. 


“Not mvcli, marm, seein’ we ain’t got none. Me an* 
these gentlemen’s a committee from the boys.” 

“From the boys?” echoed Miss Brown. She had 
heard so many wonderful things about the Golden State, 
that now she soberly wondered whether bearded men called 
themselves boys, and went to school. 

“From the miners, washin’ along the crick, marm — they 
want to know what they ken do fur yer,” continued To- 
ledo. 

“I am very grateful,” said Miss Brown; “but I suppose 
the local school committee ” 

“Don’t count on them, marm,” interrupted Toledo; 
“ they’re livin’ five miles away, and they’re only the preacher, 
an’ doctor, an’ a feller that’s j’ined the church lately. None 
uv ’em but the doctor ever shows themselves at the saloon, 
an’ he only comes when there’s a difiikilty, an’ he’s called in 
to officiate. But the boys — the boys hez got the dust, 
marm, an’ they’ve got the will. One uv us ’ll be in often to 
see what can be done fur yer. Good-mornin’, marm.” 

Toledo raised his hat again, the other committee-men 
bowed profoundly to all the Avindows and seats, and then the 
whole retired, leaving Miss Brown in the wondering posses- 
sion of an entirely new experience. 

“Well?” inquired the croAvd, as the committee ap- 
proached the creek. 

“Well,” replied Toledo, “she’s just a hundred an’ thirty 
pound nugget, an’ no mistake — hey, fellers?” 

“You bet,” promptly responded the remainder of the 
committee. 

“Good!” said the judge. “What does she want?” 

Toledo’s countenance fell. 

“By thunder!” he replied, “we got out ’fore she had a 
chance to tell us ! ” 

The judge stared sharply upon the young man, and 
hurriedly turned to hide a merry twitching of his lips. 

That afternoon the boys were considerably astonished 
and scared at seeing the schoolmistress walking quickly 


“who’s got the cleanest ' pan ?” 29 

toward tlie creek. The chairman of the new committee was 
fully equal to the occasion. Mounting a rock, he roared : 

“You fellers without no sherts on, git. You with shoes 
off, put ’em on. Take your pants out uv yer boots. Hats 
off when the lady comes. Hurry up, now — no foolin’.” 

The shirtless ones took a lively double-quick toward 
some friendly bushes, the boys rolled down their sleeves and 
pantaloons, and one or two took the extra precaution to 
wash the mud off their boots. 

Meanwhile Miss Brown approached, and Toledo stepped 
forward. 

“Anything wrong up at the schoolhouse ? ” said he. 

“Oh, no, replied Miss Brown, “but I have always had a 
great curiosity to see how gold was obtained. It seems as 
if it must be very easy to handle those little pans. Don’t 
you — don’t you suppose some miner would lend me his pan 
and let me try just once ? ” 

“ Certingly, marm ; ev’ry galoot ov ’em would be glad of 
the chance. Here, you fellers — who’s got the cleanest pan?” 

Half a dozen men washed out their pans, and hurried off 
with them. Toledo selected one, put in dirt and water, and 
handed it to Miss Brown. 

“Thar you are^ marm, but I’m afeared you’ll wet your 
dress.” 

“ Oh, that won’t harm,” cried Miss Brown, with a laugn 
which caused one enthusiastic miner to “cut the pigeon- 
wing.” 

She got the miner’s touch to a nicety, and in a moment 
had a spray of dirty water flying from the edge of the pan, 
w^hile all the boys stood in a respectful semicircle, and 
stared delightedly. The pan empty, Toledo refilled it 
several times; and, finally, picking out some pebbles and 
hard pieces of earth, pointed to the dirty, shiny deposit in 
the bottom of the pan, and briefly remarked : 

“Thar ’tis, marm.” 

“Oh!” screamed Miss Brown, with delight; “is that 
really gold-dust?” 


30 . “THEM BOOTS AIN’T FOR SALE NOW.” 

“That’s it,” said Toledo. “I’ll jest put it up fur yer, so 
yer ken kerry it.” 

“Oh, no,” said Miss Brown, “I couldn’t think of it — it 
isn’t njine.” 

“ You washed it out, marm, an’ that makes a full title in 
these parts.” 

All of the traditional honesty of New England came into 
Miss Brown’s face in an instant ; and, although she, Yankee- 
like, estimated the value of the dust, and sighingly thought 
how much easier it was to win gold in that way than by 
forcing ideas into stupid little heads, she firmly declined the 
gold, and bade the crowd a smiling good-day. 

“Did yer see them little fingers uv hern a-holdin’ out 
that pan ? — did yer see her, fellers ? ” inquired an excited 
miner. 

“Yes, an’ the way she made that dirt git, ez though she 
was useder to washin’ than wallopin’,” said another. 

“Wallopin’ !” echoed a staid miner. “I’d gie my claim, 
an’ throw in my pile to boot, to be a young ’un an’ git 
walloped by them playthings of ban’s.” 

“Jest see how she throwed dirt an’ water on them 
boots,” said another, extending an enormous ugly boot. 
“Them boots ain’t fur sale now — them ain’t.” 

“Them be durned!” contemptuously exclaimed another. 
“She tramped right on my toes as she backed out uv the 
crowd.” 

Every one looked jealously at the last speaker, and a 
grim old fellow suggested that the aforesaid individual had 
obtained a trampled foot by fraud, and that each man in 
camp had, consequently, a right to demand satisfaction of 
him. 

But the judge decided that he of the trampled foot was 
right, and that any miner who wouldn’t take such a chance, 
whether fraudulently or otherwise, hadn’t the spirit of a 
man in him. 

Yankee Sam, the shortest man in camp, withdrew from 
the crowd, and paced the banks of the creek, lost in thought 


shayin’ dun hter.’ 


31 


half an hour Sam was owner of the only store in the 
place, had doubled the prices of all articles of clothing 
•contained therein, and increased at least six-fold the price of 
all the white shirts. 

Next day the sun rose on Bottle Flat in his usual 
conservative and impassive manner. Had he respected the 
dramatic proprieties, he would have appeared with aston- 
ished face and uplifted hands, for seldom had a v/hole 
community changed so completely in a single night. 

Uncle Hans, the only German in the camp, had spent the 
preceding afternoon in that patient investigation for which 
the Teutonic mind is so justly noti^. The morning sun 
saw over Hans’s door a sign, in charcoal, which read, 
“Shaven’ Dun Hier”; and few men went to the creek that 
morning without submitting themselves to Hans’s hands. ■ 

Then several men who had been absent from the saloon 
the night before straggled into camp, with jaded mules and 
new attire. Carondelet Joe came in, clad in a pair of pants, 
on which slender saffron -hued serpent^, ascended graceful 
gray Corinthian columns, while from under the collar of a 
new white shirt appeared a cravat, displaying most of the 
lines of the solar spectrum. 

Flush, the Flat champion at poker, came in late in the 
afternoon, with a huge watch-chain, and an overpowering 
bosom-pin, and his horrid fingers sported at least one seal- 
ring each. 

Several stove-pipe hats were visible in camp, and even a 
pair of gloves were reported in the pocket of a miner. 

Yankee Sam had sold out his entire stock, and prevented 
bloodshed over his only bottle of hair-oil by putting it up at 
a raffle, in forty chances, at an ounce a chance. His stock of 
white shirts, seven in nui^l^er, were visible on manly forms ; 
his pocket combs and glares were all gone ; and there had 
been a steady run on needles and thread. Most of the 
miners were smoking new white clay pipes, while a few 
thoughtful ones, hoping for a repetition of the events of the 
previous day, had scoured their pans to a dazzling brightness. 


32 


THE SINGING SCHOOL. 


As for tlie innocent cause of all this commotion, she was 
fully as excited as the miners themselves. She had never 
been outside of Middle Bethanj^, until she started for Cali- 
fornia. Everything on the trip had been strange, and her 
stopping-place and its people were stranger than all. The 
male population of Middle Bethany, as is usual with small 
New England villages, consisted almost entirely of very 
young boys and very old men. But here at Bottle Elat 
were hosts of middle-aged men, and such funny ones 1 She 
was wild to see more of them, and hear them talk ; yet, her 
wildness was no match for her prudence. She sighed to 
think how slightly Toledo had spoken of the minister on 
the local committee, and she piously admitted to herself 
that Toledo and his friends were undoubtedly on the brink 
of the bottomless pit, and yet — they certainly were very 
kind. If she could only exert a good influence upon these 
men — ^but how ? 

Suddenly she bethought herself of the grand social 
centre of Middle Bethany — the singing-school. Of course, 
she couldn’t start a singing-school at Bottle Flat, but if she 
were to say the children needed to be led in singing, would 
it be very hypocritical? She might invite such of the 
miners as were musically inclined to lead the school in 
singing in the morning, and thus she might, perhaps, remove 
some of the prejudice which, she had been informed, existed 
against the school. 

She broached the subject to Toledo, and that faithful 
official had nearly every miner in camp at the schoolhouse 
that same evening. The judge brought a fiddle. Uncle 
Hans came with a cornet, and Yellow Pete came gi'inning in 
with his darling banjo. 

There was a little disappoii^fc^pent all around when the 
boys declared their ignorance oP “ Greenville ” and “Bonny 
Boon,” which airs Miss Brown decided were most easy for 
the children to begin with ; but when it was ascertained 
that the former was the air to “Saw My Leg OIF,” and the 
latter was identical with the “Three Black Crows,” all 


FRONT SEATS IN DEMAND. 


33 


friction was removed, and the melodious howling attracted 
the few remaining boys at the saloon, and brought them up in 
a body, led by the barkeeper himself. 

The exact connection between melody and adoration is 
yet an unsolved religio-psychological problem. But we all 
know that everywhere in the habitable globe the two in- 
termingle, and stimulate each other, whether the adora- 
tion be offered to heavenly or earthly objects. And so it 
came to pass that, at the Bottle Flat singing-school, the 
boys looked straight at the teacher while they raised their 
tuneful voices ; that they came ridiculously early, so as to 
get front seats ; and that they purposely sung out of tune, 
once in a while, so as to be personally addressed by the 
teacher. 

And she — pure, modest, prudent, and refined — saw it all, 
and enjoyed it intensely. Of course, it could never go any 
further, for though there was in Middle Bethany no 
moneyed aristocracy, the best families scorned alliances 
with any who were undegenerate, and would not be 
unequally yoked with those who drank, swore, and gambled — 
lot alone the fearful suspicion of murder, which Miss 
Brown’s imagination affixed to every man at the Flat. 

But the boys themselves — considering the unspeakable 
cdiitempt which had been manifested in the camp for the 
profession of teaching, and for all who practiced it — the 
boys exhibited a condescension truly Christian. They vied 
with each other in manifesting it, and though the means 
were not always the most appropriate, the honesty of the 
sentiment could not be doubted. 

One by one the greater part of the boys, after adoring 
and hoping, saw for themselves that Miss Brown could 
never be expected to change her name at their solicitation. 
Sadder but better men, they retired from the contest, and 
solaced themselves by betting on the chances of those still 
“on ' the track,” as an ex-jockey tersely expressed the 
situation. 

There was no talk of “false hearted” or “lair temp- 


34 : 


BETTING ON THE FAVOEITES. 


tress,” such as men often hear in society ; for not only had 
all the tenderness emanated from manly breasts alone, but 
it had never taken form of words. 

Soon the hopeful ones were reduced to half a dozen of 
these. Yankee Sam was the favorite among the betting 
men, for Sam, knowing the habits of New England damsels, 
went to Placerville one Friday, and returned next day with 
a horse and buggy. On Sunday he triumphantly drove 
Miss Brown to the nearest church. Ten to one was offered 
on Sam that Sunday afternoon, as the boys saw the demure 
and contented look on Miss Brown’s face as she returned 
from church. But Samuel followed in the sad footsteps 
of many another great man, for so industriously did he 
drink to his own success that he speedily developed into a 
bad case of delirium tremens. 

Then Carondelet Joe, calmly confident in the infiuence 
of his wonderful pants, led all odds in betting. But one 
evening, when Joe had managed to get himself in the front 
row and directly before the little teacher, that lady turned 
her head several times and showed signs of discomfort. 
When it finally struck the latter that the human breath 
might, perhaps, waft toward a lady perfumes more agree- 
able than those of mixed drinks, he abruptly quitted the 
school and the camp. 

Flush, the poker champion, carried with him to the 
singing-school that astounding impudence which had long 
been the terror and admiration of the camp. But a quality 
which had always seemed exactly the thing when applied 
to poker seemed to the boys barely endurable when dis- 
played toward Miss Brown. 

One afternoon. Flush indiscreetly indulged in some 
triumphant and rather slighting remarks about the little 
teacher. Within fifteen minutes. Flush’s final earthly home 
had been excavated, and an amateur undertaker was 
making his coffin. 

An untimely proposal by a good-looking young Mexican, 
and his prompt rejection, left the race between Toledo and 


BETTERS HASTEN TO “HEDGE.”. 35 

a Frencliman named Lecomte. It also left Miss Brown 
considerably frightened, for until now she bad imagined 
nothing more serious than the rude admiration which had 
so delighted her at first. 

But now, who knew but some one else would be ridicu- 
lous? Poor little Miss Brown suffered acutely at the 
thought of giving pain, and determined to be more demure 
than ever. 

But alas ! even her agitation seemed to make her more 
charming to her two remaining lovers. 

Had the boys at the saloon comprehended in the least 
the cause of Miss BroT\Ti’s uneasiness, they would have 
promptly put both Lecomte and Toledo out of the camp, or 
out of the world. But to their good-natured, conceited 
minds it meant only that she was confused, and unable to 
decide, and unlimited betting was done, to be settled upon 
the retirement of either of the contestants. 

And while patriotic feeling influenced the odds rather in 
Toledo’s favor, it was fairly admitted that the Frenchman 
"was a formidable rival, 

To all the grace of manner, and the knowledge of women 
that seems to run in Gallic blood, he was a man of tolerable 
education and excellent taste. Besides, Miss Brown was so 
totally different from French women, that every develop- 
ment of her character afforded him an entirely new sensa- 
tion, and doubled his devotion. 

Toledo stood his ground manfully, though the boys 
considered it a very bad sign when he stopped drinking, and 
spent hours in pacing the ground in front of his hut, with 
his hands behind him, and his eyes fixed on the gfound. 

Finally, when he was seen one day to throw away his 
faithful old pipe, heavy betters hastened to “ hedge ” as well 
as they might. 

Besides, as one of the boys truthfully observed, “He 
couldn’t begin to wag a jaw along with that Frenchman.” 

But, like many other young men, he could talk quite 
eloquently with his eyes, and as.^ the language of the eyes is 


36 


GOING BACK ON THE COMFORTS OF LIFE. 


always direct;, and purely grammatical, Miss Brown under- 
stood everything they said, and, to her great horror, once or 
twice barely escaped talking back. 

The poor little teacher was about to make the wholo 
matter a subject of special prayer, when a knock at the 
door startled her. 

She answered it, and beheld the homely features of the 
judge. 

“I just come in to talk a little matter that’s been 
botherin’ me some time. Ye’ll pardon me ef I talk a little 
plain?” said he. 

“Certainly,” replied the teacher, wondering if he, too, 
had joined her persecutors. 

“Thank ye,” said the judge, looking relieved. “It’s all 
right. I’ve got darters to hum ez big ez you be, an’ I want 
to talk to yer ez ef yer was one uv ’em.” 

The judge looked uncertain for a moment, and then 
proceeded : 

“That feller Toledo’s dead in love with yer — uv course 
you know it, though ’tain’t likely he’s told yer. All I want 
to say ’bout him is, drop him kindly. He’s been took so 
bad sence you come, that he’s stopped drinkin’ an’ chewin’ 
an’ smokin’ an’ cussin’, an’ he hasn’t played a game at The 
Nugget sence the first singin’ -school night. Mebbe this all 
ain’t much to you, but you’ve read ’bout that woman that 
was spoke well uv fur doin’ what she could. He’s the fust 
feller I’ve ever seen in the diggin’s that went back on all 
the comforbs uv life, an’ — an’ I’ve been a ’young man myself, 
an’ know how big a claim it’s been fur him to work. I ain’t 
got the heart to see him spiled now ; but he tcill be ef, when 
yer hev to drop him, yer don’t do it kindly. An’ — ^just one 
thing more — the quicker he’s out of his misery the better.” 

The old jail-bird screwed a tear out of his eye with a 
dirty knuckle, and departed abruptly, leaving the little 
teacher just about ready to cry herself. 

But before she was quite ready, another, knock startled 
lier. 


‘‘OUT OF HIS MISERY, BY THUNDER!” 


37 


She opened the door, and let in Toledo himself. 

“ Good-evin’, marm,” said he, gravely. “ I just come in 
to make my last ’fficial call, seein’ I’m goin’ away to-morrer. 
Ez there anything the schoolhouse wants I ken git an’ send 
from ’Frisco ?” 

“Going away!” ejaculated the teacher, heedless of the 
remainder of Toledo’s sentence. 

“Yes, marm; goin’ away fur good. Fact is, I’ve been 
tryin’ to behave myself lately, an’ I find I need more 
company at it than I git about the diggin’s. I’m goin’ 
some place whar I ken learn to be the gentleman I feel like 
bein’ — to be decent an’ honest, an’ useful, an’ there ain’t 
anybody here that keers to help a feller that way — 
nobody.” 

The ancestor of the Browns of Middle Bethany was at 
Lexington on that memorable morning in ’75, and all of his 
promptness and his courage, ten times multiplied, swelled 
the heart of his trembling little descendant, as she faltered 
out : 

“There’s one.” 

“Who?” asked Toledo, before he could raise his eyes. 

But though Miss Brown answered not a word, he did 
not repeat his question, for such a rare crimson came into 
the little teacher’s face, that he hid it away in his breast, 
and acted as if he would never let it out again. 

Another knock at the door. 

Toledo dropped into a chair, and Miss Brown, hastily 
smoothing back her hair, opened the door, and again saw 
the judge. 

“I jest dropped back to say ” commenced the judge, 

when his eye fell upon Toledo. 

He darted a quick glance at the teacher, comprehended 
the situation at once, and with a loud shout of “Out of his 
misery, by thunder ! ” started on a run to carry the news to 
the saloon. 

******* 

Miss Brown completed her term, and then the minister, 


88 " MADE FROM GOLD WASHED BY HULDAH BROWN. 

who was on the local Board, was called in to formally make 
her tutor for life to a larger pupil. Lecomte, with true 
French gallantry, insisted on being groomsman, and the 
judge gave away the bride. The groom, who gave a name 
very diiferent from any ever heard at the Flat, placed on his 
bride’s finger a ring, inscribed within, ‘‘Made from gold 
washed by Huldah Brown.” The little teacher has 
increased the number of her pupils by several, and her 
latest one calls her grandma. 



JIM HOCKSON’S EEVI^NGIi 


L 

X “ I do though.” 

“Wa’a!, I never.” 

“Nuther did I — adzacMy.” 

“Don’t be provokin’, Ephr’m — what makes you talk in 
that dou’fle way ?” 

“ Wa’al, ma, the world hain’t all squeezed into this yere 
little town of Crankett. I’ve been elsewheres, some, an’ I’ve 
seed some funny things, and likewise some that wuzn’t so 
funny ez they might be.” 

“ P’r’aps ye hev, but ye needn’t alius be a-settin’ other 
folks down. Mebbe Crankett ain’t the whole world, but it’s 
seed that awful case of Molly Capins, and the shipwreck of 
thirty-four, when the awful nor’easter wuz, an’ ” 

“ Wa’al, wa’al, ma — don’t let’s fight ’bout it,” said Ephr’m, 
with a sigh, as he tenderly scraped down a new ax-helve 
with a piece of glass, while his wife made the churn-dasher 
hurry up and down as if the innocent cream was Ephr’m’s 
back, and she was avenging thereon Ephr’m’s insults to 
Crankett and its people. 

Deacon Ephraim Crankett was a descendant of the 
founder of the village, and although now a sixty-year old 
farmer, he h^d in his lifetime seen considerable of the 
world. He had been to the fishing-banks a dozen times, 
been whaling twice, had carried a cargo of wheat up the 
Mediterranean, and had been second officer of a ship which. 


40 


DEACON CRANKETT'S IRAV'ELiiJ. 


had picked up a miscellaneous cargo in the heathen ports 
of Eastern Asia. 

He had picked up a great many ideas, too, wherever he 



JIM HOCKSON’S EEVE^nQE. — “ HE HELD IT UNDER THE LIGHT, AND 
EXAMINED IT CLOSELY.” 


had been, and his wife was immensely proud of him and 
them, ’whenever she could compare them with the men and 
ideas which existed at Orankett ; but when Ephr’ni disniaved 


“MILLICENT ain’t a CHRISTIAN NAME. 

liis memories and knowledge to her alone — oh, that w< .. 
very different thing. 

“Anyhow,” resumed Mrs. Crankett, raising the lid of the 
churn to see if there were any signs of butter, “ it’s an ever- 
lastin’ shame. Jim Hockson’s a young feller in good 
standin’ in the Church, an’ Millie Botayne’s an unbeliever — 
they say her father’s a reg’lar infidel.” 

“ Easy, ma, easy,” gently remonstrated Ephr’m. “ When 
he seed you lookin’ at his pet rose-bush on yer way to 
church las’ Sunday, didn’t he hurry an’ pull two or three an’ 
han’ ’em to ye ? ” 

“ Yes, an’ what did he hev’ in t’other han’ ? — a Boasting 
paper, an’ not a Sunday one, nuther ! Millicent ain’t a 
Christian name, nohow ye can fix it — it amounts to jest 
’bout’s much ez she does, an’ that’s nothing. She’s got a 
soft face, an’ purty hair — ef it’s all her own, which I power- 
fully doubt — an’ after that ther’s nothin’ to her. She’s never 
been to sewin’ meetin’, an’ she’s off a boatin’ with that New 
York chap every Saturday afternoon, instead of goin’ to the 
young people’s prayer-meetin’s.” 

“ She’s most supported Sam Hansom’s wife an’ young 
uns since Sam’s smack was lost,” suggested Ephr’m. 

“ That’s you, Deac’n Crankett,” replied his wife, “ always 
stick up for sinners. P’r’aps you’d make better use of your 
time ef you’d examine yer own evidences.” 

“Wa’al, v/ife,” said the deacon, “she’s engaged to that 
New York feller, ez you call Mr. Brown, so there’s no dan- 
ger of Jim bein’ onequally yoked with an onbeliever. An’ I 
wish her well, from the bottom of my heart.” 

“7 don’t,” cried Mrs. Crankett, giving the dasher a 
vicious push, which sent the cream flying frantically up to 
the top of the churn ; “ I hope he’ll turn out bad, an’ her 
pride ’ll be tuk down ez ” 

The deacon had been long enough at sea to know the 
signs of a long storm, and to know that prudence suggested 
a prompt sailing out of the course of such a storm, when 
possible ; so he started for the door, carrying the glass and 


“BEOWN — THE NEW YOEK CHAP.” 

.v-lielve witli him. Suddenly the door opened, and a female 
figure ran so violently against the ax-lielve, that the said 
figure was instantly tumbled to the floor, and seemed an 
irregulctr mass of faded pink calico, and subdued plaid 
shawl. 

“ Miss Peekin ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Crankett, dropping the 
churn-dasher and opening her eyes. 

“ Like to ha’ not been,” whined the figure, slowly arising 
and giving the offending ax-helve a glance which would have 
set it on fire had it not been of green hickory ; “but — liev you 
heerd?” 

“What?” asked Mrs. Crankett, hastily setting a chair for 
the newcomer, while Ephr’m, deacon and sixty though he 
was, paused in his almost completed exit. 

He's gone!” exclaimed Miss Peekin. 

“ Oh, I heerd Jim hed gone to Califor ” 

“ Pshaw 1 ” said Miss Peekin, contemptuously ; “ that was 
days ago 1 I mean Brown — the New York chap — Millie 
Botayne’s lover 1 ” 

“Ye don’t?” 

“ But I do ; an’ what’s more, he had to. Ther wuz men 
come after him in the nighttime, but he must hev heard 
’em, fur they didn’t find him in his room, an’ this mornin’ 
they found that his sailboat was gone, too. An’ what’s 
more, ther’s a printed notice up about him, an’ he’s a 
defaulter, and there’s five thousand dollars for whoever 
catches him, an’ he’s stole tiventy-Jive, an’ he’s all described 
in the notice, as p’ticular as if he was a full-blood Alderney 
cow.” 

^ “ Poor fellow,” sighed the deacon, for which interruption 

he received a withering glance from Miss Peekin. 

“They say Millie’s a goin’ on awful, and that she sez 
she’ll marry him now if he’ll come back. But it ain’t likely 
he’ll be such a fool ; now he’s got so much money, he don’t 
need hern. Beckon her an’ her father won’t be so high an’ 
mighty an’ stuck up now. It’s powerful discouragin’ to the 
righteous to see the ungodly flourishin’ so, an’ a-rollin’ in 


tinr nocKsoN’s first loys. 


43 


tiler wealth, when ther betters has to be on needles all year 
fur fear the next mack’ril catch won’t ’mount to much. The 
idee of her bein’ willin’ to marry a defaulter ! I can’t 
understand it.” 

“ Poor girl ! ” sighed Mrs. Crankett, wiping one eye with 
the corner of her apron. “ I’d do it myself, ef I was her ? ” 

The deacon dropped the ax-helve, and gave his wife a 
tender kiss on each eye, 

n. 

Perhaps Mr. Darwin can tell inquirers why, out of very 
common origin, there occasionally spring beings who are 
very decided improvements on their progenitors ; but we 
are only able to state that Jim Hockson was one of these 
superior beings, and was himself fully aware of the fact. Not 
that he was conceited at all, for he was not, but he could 
not help seeing what every one else saw and acknowledged. 

Every one liked him, for he was always kind in word and 
action, and every one was glad to be Jim Hockson’s friend ; 
but somehow Jim seemed to consider himself his best 
company. 

His mackerel lines were worked as briskly as any others 
when the fish were biting ; but when the fish were gone, he 
would lean idly on the rail, and stare at the waves and clouds ; 
he could work, a cranberry-bog so beautifully that the 
people for miles around came to look on and take lessons ; 
yet, when the sun tried to hide in the evening behind a 
ragged row of trees on a ridge beyond Jim’s cranberry- 
patch, he would lean on his spade, and gaze until everything 
about him seemed yellow. 

He read the Bible incessantly, yet offended alike the 
pious saints and critical sinners by never preaching or 
exhorting. And out of everything Jim Hockson seemed to 
extract what it contained of the ideal and the beautiful ; and 
when he saw Millicent Botayne, he straightway adored the 
first woman he had met who was alike beautiful, intelligent 
and refined. Miss Millie, being human, was pleased by the 


44 


“•\VE ALL SWAR BY iTBr, W DO.” 

admiration of the handsome, manly fell otv who seemed so fai 
the superior of the men of his class; but when, in his 
honest simplicit}^, he told her that he loved her, she declined 
his further attentions in a manner which, though very deli- 
cate and kind, opened Jim’s blue eyes to some sad things he 
had never seen before. 

He neither got drunk, nor threatened to kill himself, nor 
married the first silly girl he met; but he sensibly left the 
place where he had suffered so greatly, and, in a sort of sad 
daze, he hurried off to hide himself in the newly discovered 
gold-fields of California. Perhaps he had suddenly learned 
certain properties of gold which were heretofore unknown 
to him; at any rate, it was soon understood at Spanish 
Stake, where he had located himself, that Jim Hockson got 
out more gold per week than any man in camp, and that it 
all went to San Francisco. 

“ Kind of a mean cuss, I reckon,” remarked a newcomer, 
one day at the saloon, when Jim alone, of the crowd present, 
declined to drink with him. 

“ Not any ! ” replied Colonel Two, so called because he 
had two eyes, while another colonel in the camp had but 
one. “An’ it’s good for you, stranger,” continued the 
colonel, “ that you ain’t been long in camp, else some of the 
boys ’ud put a hole through you for sayin’ anything ’gainst 
Jim; for we all swear by him, we do. He don’t carry 
shootin’-irons, but no feller in camp dares to tackle him ; he 
don’t cuss nobody, but ev’rybody does just as he asks ’em to. 
As to drinkin’, why, I’d swear off myself, ef ’twud make mo 
hold a candle to him. Went to old Bermuda t’other day, 
when he w'as ravin’ tight and layin’ for Butcher Pete with a 
shootin’-iron, an’ he actilly talked Bermuda into soakin’ his 
head an’ turnin’ in — ev’rybody else was afeared to go nigh 
Cid Bermuda that day.” 

The newcomer seemed gratified to learn that Jim was so 
peaceable a man — that was the natural supposition, at least 
— for he forthwith cultivated Jim with considerable assiduitv, 
and being, it was evident, a man of considerable taste and 


“git! I b’lieve in the golden rule, I do!” 45 

experience, Jim soon found his .companionship very agree- 
able, and he lavished upon his new acquaintance, who had 
been nicknamed Tarpaulin, the many kind and thoughtful 
attentions which had endeared Jim to the other miners. 

The two men lived in the same hut, staked claims 
adjoining each other, and Tarpaulin, who had been thin and 
nervous-looking when he first came to camp, began to grow 
peaceable and plump under Jim’s influence. 

One night, as Jim and Tarpaulin lay chatting before a 
fire in their hut, they heard a thin, wiry voice in the next . 
1 hut inquiring : 

! “ Anybody in this camp look like this ? ” 

Tarpaulin started. 

“ That’s a funny question,” said he ; “ let’s see who and 
what the fellow is.” 

And then Tarpaulin started for the next hut. Jim 
waited some time, and hearing low voices in earnest conver- 
sation, went next door himself. 

Tarpaulin was not there, but two small, thin, sharp-eyed 
men were there, displaying an old-fashioned daguerreotype 
of a handsome-looking young man, dressed in the latest 
New York style ; and more than this Jim did not notice. 

“Don’t know him, mister,” said Colonel Two, who 
happened to be the owner of the hut. “ Besides ef, as is 
most likely, he’s growed long hair an’ a beard since he leit 
the States, his own mother wouldn’t know him from George 
Washington. Brother o’ yourn ? ” 

“No,” said one of the thin men; “he’s — well, the fact is, 
we’ll give a thousand dollars to any one who’ll find him for 
ns in twenty-four hours.” 

“ Deppity sheriffs ? ” asked the colonel, retiring some- 
what hastily under his blankets. 

“About the same thing,” said one of the thin men, with 
a sickly smile. 

“Git!” roared the colonel, suddenly springing from his 
bed, and cocking his revolver. “ I b’lieve in the Golden 
Buie, /do!” 


46 


jm MAKES A DISCOVERY. 


Tlie detectives, with the fine instinct ])eculiar to their 
profession, rightly construed the colonel’s action as a hint, 
and withdrew, and Jim retired to his own hut, and fell 
asleep while waiting for his partner. 

Morning came, but no Tarpaulin ; dinner-time arrived, but 
Jim ate alone, and was rather blue. He loved a sociable chat, 
and of late Tarpaulin had been almost his sole companion. 

Evening came, but Tarpaulin came not. 

Jim couldn’t abide the saloon for a whole evening, so he 
lit a candle in his own hut, and attempted to read. 

Tarpaulin was a lover of newspapers — it seemed to Jim 
he received more papers than all the remaining miners put 
together. 

Jim thought he would read some of these same papers, 
and unrolled Tarpaulin’s blankets to find them, when out 
fell a picture-case, opening as it fell. Jim was about to 
close it again, when he suddenly started, and exclaimed : 

“ Millicent Botayne ! ” 

He held it under the light, and examined it closely. 

There could be no doubt as to identity — there were the 
same exquisite features which, a few months before, had 
opened to Jim Hockson a new world of beauty, and had 
then, with a sweet yet sad smile, knocked down all his fair 
castles, and destroyed all his exquisite pictures. 

Strange that it should appear to him now, and so unex- 
pectedly, but stranger did it seem to Jim that on the 
opposite side of the case should be a portrait which was a 
duplicate of the one shown by the detectives ! 

“ That rascal Brown ! ” exclaimed Jim. “ So he succeeded 
in getting her, did he ? But I shouldn’t call him names ; 
he had as much right to make love to her as I. God grant 
he may make her happy ! And he is probably a very fine 
fellow — mitst be, by his looks.” 

Suddenly Jim started, as if shocked by an electric 
battery. Hiding all the hair and beard of the portrait, he 
stared at it a moment, and exclaimed : 

“ Ta rpo ulin I ” 


CM?IN' BACK OH A PAEDNES, 


47 


III. 

“ Both gone ! ” exclaimed Colonel Two, hurrying into 
the saloon, at noon. 

^^Both gone ?” echoed two or three men. 

“ Yes,” said the colonel ; “ and the queerest thing is^ 
they left ev’rything behind — every darned thing ! I never 
did see such a stampede afore — I didn’t ! Nobody’s got any 
idee of whar they be, nor what it’s ’bout neither.” 

“Don’t be too sartain, colonel!” piped Weasel, a self- 
contained mite of a fellow, who was still at work upon his 
glass, filled at the last general treat, although every one 
else had finished so long ago that they were growing thirsty 
again — “don’t be too sartain. Them detectives bunked at 
my shanty last night.” 

“ The deuce they did ! ” cried the colonel. “ Good the 
rest of us didn’t know it.” 

“Well,” said Weasel, moving his glass in graceful 
circles, to be sure that all the sugar dissolved, “I dunno. 
It’s a respectable business, an’ I wanted to have a good 
look at ’em.” 

“ What’s that got to do with Jim and Tarpaulin ? ” 
look at demanded the colonel, fiercely. 

“ Wait, and I’ll tell you,” replied Weasel, provokingly, 
taking a leisurely sip at his glass. “Jim come down to see 
’em ” 

“ What ? ” cried the colonel. 

“ An’ told ’em he knew their man, an’ would help find 
him,” continued Weasel. “ They offered him the thousand 
dollars — — ” 

“ Oh, Lord 1 oh. Lord !” groaned the colonel ; “ who’s a 
feller to trust in this world ! The idee of Jim goin’ back on 
a pardner fur a thousand! I wouldn’t hev b’lieved he’d 
a "done it fur a million ! ” 

“An’ he told ’em he’d cram it down their throats if they 
Tuentioned it again.” 

“Bully! Hooray fur Jim!” shouted the colonel 


48 


EXCITEME^TT IN THE CAMP. 


“ What’ll yer take, fellers ? Fill high ! Here’s to Jim ! the 
feller that b’lieves his friend’s innercent ! ” 

The colonel looked thoughtfully into his glass, and 
remarked, as if to his own reflection therein, “ Ain’t many 
such men hero ^^f^whars else ! ” after wiiich he drank the 
toast himself. 

“ But that don’t explain w^hat Tarpaulin went fur,” said 
the colonel, suddenly. 

“Yes, it does,” said the exasperating Weasel, shutting 
his thin lips so tightly that it was hard to see where his 
mouth was. 

“ What ?” cried the colonel. “ ’Twould take a four- horse 
corkscrew to get anything out o’ you, you dried-up little 
scoundrel ! ” 

“ Why ! ” replied Weasel, greatly pleased by the colonel’s 
compliment, “after what you said about hair and beard 
hidin’ a man, one of them fellers cut a card an’ held it 
over the picture, so as to hide hair an’ chin. The forehead 
an’ face an’ nose an’ ears wuz Tarpaulin’s, an’ nobody else’s.” 

“ Lightning’s blazes ! ” roared the colonel. “ Ha, ha, ha ! 
why. Tarpaulin hisself came into my shanty, an’ looked at 
the pictur’, an’ talked to them ’bout it ! Trot out yer glass- 
ware, barkeeper — qot to drink to a feller that’s ez cool ez all 
that!” 

The boys drank with the colonel, but they were too 
severely astonished to enjoy the liquor j)articularly. In fact, 
old Bermuda, who had never taken anything but plain rye, 
drank three fingers of claret that day, and did not know of 
it until told. 

The colonel’s mind was unusually excited. It seemed 
to him there were a number of probabilities upon which to 
hang bets. He walked outside, that his meditation might 
be undisturbed, but in an instant he was back, crying : 

“ Lady cornin’ ! ” 

Shirt-sleeves and trowsers-legs were hurriedly rolled 
down, shirt-collars were buttoned, hats were dusted, and 
then eacn man went leisurely out, with the air of having 


49 


‘'been here, but gone.” 

merely happened to leave the saloon — an air which imposed 
upon no disinterested observer. 

Coming up the trail beside the creek were a middle-aged 
gentleman and a young lady, both on horseback. 

The gentleman’s dress and general style plainly indi- 
cated that he was not a miner, nor a storekeeper, nor a 
barkeeper ; while it was equally evident that the lady was 
neither a washerwoman, a cook, nor a member of either of 
the very few professions which were open to ladies on the 
Pacific Coast in those days. 

This much every miner quickly decided for himself ; 
but after so deciding, each miner reached the uttermost 
extremity of his wits, and devoted himself to staring. 

The couple reined up before the saloon, and the gentle- 
man drew something small and black and square from his 
pocket. 

“Gentlemen,” said he, “we are looking for an old friend 
of ours, and have traced him to this camp. We scarcely 
know whether it would be any use to give his name, but 
here is his picture. Can any one remember having seen the 
person here ? ” 

Every one looked toward Colonel Two, he being the man 
with the most practical tongue in camp. 

The colonel took the picture, and Weasel slipped up 
behind him and looked over his shoulder. The colonel 
looked at the picture, abimptly handed it back, looked at 
the young lady, and then gazed vacantly into space, and 
seemed very uncomfortable. 

“ Been here, but gone,” said the colonel, at length. 

“Where did he go, do you know ?” asked the gentleman, 
while the lady’s eyes dropped wearily. 

“Nobody knows — only been gone a day cr two,” replied 
the colonel. 

The colonel had a well-developed heart, and, relying 
on what he considered the correct idea of Jim Hockson’s 
mission, ventured to say : 

“.He’ll be back in a day or two — left all his things.” 


50 


TBUST JIM HOCKSON. 




Suddenly Weasel raised liis diminutive voice, and said : 

“ The detec ” 

The determined grip of the colonel’s hand interrupted the 
communication which Weasel attempted to make, and the 
colonel hastily remarked : 

“Ther’s a feller gone for him that’s sure to fetch him 
back.” 

“ Who — who is it?” asked the young lady, hesitatingly. 

“Well, ma’am,” said the colonel, “ as yer father — I s’pose, 
leastways — said, ’tain’t much use to give names in this part 
of the world, but the name he’s goin’ by is Jim Hockson.” 

The young lady screamed and fell. 

IV. 

“ Whether to do it or not, is what bothers me,” solilo- 
quized Mr. Weasel, pacing meditatively in front of the 
saloon. “The old man offers me two thousand to get 
Tarpaulin away from them fellers, and let him know where 
to meet him an’ his daughter. Two thousand’s a pretty 
penny, an’ the bein’ picked out by so smart a lookin’ man is 
an honor big enough to set off agin’ a few hundred dollars 
more. But, on t’other hand, if they catch him, they’ll come 
back here, an’ who knows but what they’ll want the old 
man an’ girl as bad as they wanted Tarpaulin ? -A bird in 
the hand’s worth two in the bush — better keep near the 
ones I got, I reckon. Here they come now ! ” 

As Mr. Weasel concluded his dialogue with himself, Mr. 
Botayne and Millicent approached, in company with the 
colonel. 

The colonel stopped just beyond the saloon, and said : 

“ Now, here’s your best p’int — you can see the hill-trail 
fur^ better’n five miles, an’ the crick fur a mile an’ a hail 
I’ll jest hev a shed knocked together to keep the lady from 
the sun. An’ keep a stiff upper lip, both of yer — trust Jim 
Hockson ; nobody in the mines ever knowed him to fail.” 

Millicent shivered at the mention of Jim’s name, and the 


THE DETECTIVES' LUCK. 


51 


colonel, unliapplly ignorant of the cause of her agitation, 
tried to divert her mind from the chances of harm to Tar- 
paulin by growing eloquent in praise of Jim Hockson. 

Suddenly the colonel himself started and grew pale. He 
quickly recovered himself, however, and, with the delicacy 
of a gentleman, walked rapidly away, as Millicent and her 
father looked in the direction from which the colonel’s 
surjDrise came. 

There, handcuffed, with beard and hair singed close, 
clothes torn and face bleeding, walked Ethelbert Brown 
between the two detectives, while Jim Hockson, with head 
bowed and hands behind his back, followed a few yards 
behind. 

Some one gave the word at the saloon, and the boys 
hurried out, but the colonel pointed significantly toward 
the sorrowful couple, while with the other hand he pointed 
an ugly pistol, cocked, toward the saloon. 

Millicent hurried from her father’s side, and flung her 
arms about the sorry figure of her lover ; and Jim Hockson, 
finding his pathway impeded, raised his eyes, and then 
blushed violently. 

“ Sorry for you, sir,” said one of the detectives, touching 
his hat to Mr. Botayne, “ but can’t help being glad we got a 
day ahead of you.” 

“ What amount of money will buy your .prisoner ? ” 
demanded the unhappy father. 

Beg pardon, sir — very sorry, but — ^we’d be compound- 
ing felony in that case, you know,” replied one of the officers# 
gazing with genuine pity on the weeping girl. 

‘‘Don’t worry,” whispered the colonel in Mr, Botayne’s 
ear : “we’ll clean out them two fellers, and let Tarpaulin loose 
again, feller come here for something darn it!” with 

which sympathizing expression the colonel again retired» 

“I’ll give you as much as the bank offers.” said Mr. 
Botayne. 

“ Yery sorry, sir ; but can’t,” replied the detective. 
“We’d be just as bad then in the eyes of the law as before. 


52 


REVENGE AT LAST. 


Eeward, five llioiisand, bank lose twenty-five thousand — 
thirty thousand, in odd figures, is least we could take. Even 
that wouldn’t be reg’lar ; but it would be a safe risk, seeing 
ail the bank cares for’s to get its money back.” 

Mr. Botayne groaned. 

“ We’!! make it as pleasant as we can for you, sir,” con- 
tinued the detective, “ if you and the lady’ll go back on the 
ship with us. We’ll give him the liberty of the ship as soon i 
as we’re well away from land. We’d consider it our duty to 
watch him, of course ; but we’d try to do it so’s not to give 
offense — we’ve got hearts, though we are in tliis business. 
Hope you can buy him clear when you get home, sir?” 

“ I’ve sacrificed everything to get here — I can never clear 
him,” sighed Mr Botayne. 

can !” exclaimed a clear, manly voice. 

Millicent raised her eyes, and for the first time saw Jim 
Hockson. 

She gave him a look in which astonishment, gratitude 
and fear strove for the mastery, and he gave her a straight- 
forward, honest, respectful look in return. 

The two detectives dropped their lower jaws alarmingly, 
and raised their eyebrows to their hat-rims. 

“ The bank at San Francisco has an agent here,” said 
Jim. “ Colonel, won’t you fetch him?” 

The colonel took a lively double-quick, and soon re- 
turned with a business-looking man. 

“ Mr. Green,” said Jim, “ please tell me how much Jt 
have in your bank?” 

The clerk looked over a small book he extracted from 
his pocket, and replied, briefly : 

“ Over two thousand ounces.” 

‘‘Please give these gentlemen a check, made whatever 
way they like it, for the equivalent of thirty thousand 
dollars. I’ll sign it,” said Jim. 

The clerk and one of the detectives retired to an 
adjacent hut, and soon called Jim. Jim joined them, and 
immediately he and the officer returned to the prisoner. 


A THIETY THOUSAND DOLLAE SEEMON. 53 

“It’s all right, Maxley,” said the officer ; “ let him go.” 

The officer removed the handcuffs, and Ethelbert Brown 
was free. His first motion was to seize Jim’s hand. 

“ Hockson, tell me why you helped those detectives,” 
said he. 

“Eevenge !” replied Jim. 

“For what?” cried Brown, changing color. 

“ Gaining Millie Botayne’s love,” replied Jim. 

- Brown looked at Millicent, and read the story from her 
face. 

He turned toward Jim a wondering look, and asked, 
slowly : 

“ Then, why did you free me ? ” 

“ Because she loved you,” said Jim, and then he walked 
quietly away. 

V. 

“ Why, Miss Peekin ! ” 

“It’s a fact : Eben Javash, that went out better’n a year 
ago, hez got back, and he wuz at the next diggins an’ heerd 
all about it. ’T seems the officers ketched Brown, an’ Jim 
Hockson gave ’em thirty thousand dollars to pay them an’ 
the bank too, and then they let him go. Might’s well ha 
kept his money, though, seein’ Brown washed overboard on 
the way back. 

“ I ain’t a bettin’ man,” said the deacon, “ but I’d risk 
our white-faced cow that them thirty thousand dollars 
preached the greatest sermon ever heerd in Californy — ur in 
Crankett either.” ' • 

Miss Peekin threw a withering glance at the deacon ; it 
was good he was not on trial for heresy, with Miss Peekin 
for judge and jury. She continued : 

“ Eben says there was a fellow named Weasel that hid 
close by, an’ heerd all ’twas said, and when he went to the 
rum-shop an’ told the miners, they hooray’d for Jim ez ef 
they wuz mad. Just like them crazy fellers — they hain’t no 
idee when money’s wasted.” 


54 


A POWERFUL CONYERSION. 


“ The Lord waste all the money in the world that way ! ” 
devoutly exclaimed the deacon. 

“ An’ that feller Weasel,” continued Miss Peekin, giving 
the deacon’s pet cat a vicious kick, “though he’d always 
been economical, an’ never set a bad example before by 
persuadin’ folk to be intemprit, actilly drored a pistol, and 
fit with a feller they called Colonel Two — fit for the chance 
of askin’ the crowd to drink to Jim Hockson, an’ then went 
aroun’ to all the diggins, tellin’ about Jim, an’ wastin’ his 
money treatin’ folks to drink good luck to Jim. Dis — ■ 
graceful ! ” 

“ It’s what rd call a powerful conversion,” remarked the 
deacon. 

“ But ther s more,” said Miss Peekin, with a sigh, and 
yet with an air of importance befitting the bearer of won- 
derful tidings. 

“ What ? ” eagerly asked Mrs. Crankett. 

“ Jim’s back,” said Miss Peekin. 

“ Mercy on us ! ” cried Mrs. Crankett. 

" The Lord bless and prosj)er him ! ” earnestly exclaimed 
the deacon. 

“ Well,” said Miss Peekin, with a disgusted look, “ I 
s’pose He will, from the looks o’ things ; fur Eben sez that 
when Weasel told the fellers how it all wuz, they went to 
vrork an’ put gold dust in a box fur Jim till ther wus more 
than he giv fur Brown, an’ fellers from all round’s been 
sendin’ him dust ever since. He’s mighty sight the richest 
man anywhere near this town.” 

“Good — ^bless the Lord!” said the deacon, with delight. 

“Ye hain’t heerd all of it, though,” continued Miss 
Peekin, with a funereal countenance. “They’re going to be 
married.” 

“ Sakes alive ! ” gasps Mrs. Crankett. 

“Its so, said Miss Peekin; “an’ they say she sent for 
Lim, by way of the Isthmus, an’ he come back that way. 
Bad enough to maiTy him, when poor Brown hain’t been 
dead six months, but to send for him 


SHOCKING MISS PEEKIN. 


55 


‘‘ Waz a real noble, big-hearted, womanly thing to do,” 
declared Mrs. Crankett, snatching off her spectacles ; “ an* 
I’d hev done it myself ef I’d been her.” 

The deacon gave his old wife an enthusiastic hug ; upon 
seeing which Miss Peekin hastily departed, with a severely 
shocked expression of countenance and a nose aspiring 
heavenward. 



MAKING HIS MAEK. 


B lack hat was, in 1851, about as peaceful and well- 
regulated a village as could be found in the United 
States. 

It was not on tbe road to any place, so it grew but little ; 
the dirt paid steadily and well, so but few of tbe original 
settlers went away. 

The march of civilization, with its churches and circuses, 
had not yet reached Black Hat ; marriages never convulsed 
the settlement with the pet excitement of villages generally, 
and the inhabitants were never arrayed at swords’ point by 
either religion, politics or newspapers. 

To be sure, the boys gambled every evening and all day 
Sunday; but a famous player, who once passed that way on 
a prospecting-trip, declared that even a preacher would get 
sick of such playing; for, as everybody kneAV everjUody 
else’s game, and as all men who played other than squarely 
had long since been required to leave, there was an utter 
absence of pistols at the tables. '' . 

Occasional disagreements took place, to be sure — they 
have been taking place, even among the best people, since 
the days of Cain and Abel; but all difficulties at Black 
Hat which did not succumb to force of jaw were quietly 
locked in the bosoms of the disputants until the first 
Sunday. 

Sunday, at Black Hat, orthodoxically commenced at 
sunset on Saturday, and was piously extended througli to 
working-time on Monday morning, and during this period of 


SUNDAY AT DDACK HAT. 57 

thirty-six hours there was submitted to arbitrament, by knife 
or pistol, all unfinished rows of the week. ' 

On Sunday was also performed all of the hard drinking 
at Black Hat ; but through the week the inhabitants worked 
as steadily and lived as peacefully as if surrounded by 
church-steeples, court-houses and jails. 

Whether owing to the inevitable visitations of the great 
disturber of affairs in the Garden of Eden, or only in the 
due course of that developement which affects communities 
as well as species, we know not, but certain it is that sud- 
denly the city fathers at Black Hat began to wear thoughtful 
faces and wrinkled brows, to indulge in unusual periods of 
silence, and to drink and smoke as if these consoling occupa- 
tions were pursued more as matters of habit than of enjoy- 
ment. 

The prime cause of the uneasiness of these good men was 
a red-faced, red-haired, red-whiskered fellow, who had been 
nicknamed “ Captain,” on account of the military cut of the 
whiskers mentioned above. 

The captain was quite a good fellow ; but he was suffer- 
ing severely from “ the last infirmity of noble minds ” — 
ambition. 

He had gone West to make a reputation, and so openly 
did he work for it that no one doubted his object ; and so 
untiring and convincing was he, that, in two short weeks, he 
had persuaded the weaker of the brethren at Black Hat that 
things in general were considerably out of joint. And as a 
little leaven leavenetli the whole lump, every man at Black 
Hat was soon' discussing the captain’s criticisms, and was 
neglecting the more peaceable matters of cards and drink, 
which had previously occupied their leisure hours. 

The captain was always fully charged with opinions on 
every subject, and his eloquent voice was heard at length on 
even the smallest matter that interested the camp. One day 
a disloyal miner remarked : 

“ Captain’s jaw is a reg’lar air-trigger; reckon he’ll run 
the camp when Whitey leaves,” 


58 


WHITEY'S EXPLOITS. 


Straiglitway a devout respecter of the powers that he ” 
carried the remark to Whitey, the chief of the camp. 

Now, it happened that Whitey, an immense hut very 
peaceable and sensible fellow, had just been discussing with 
some of his adherents the probable designs of the captain, 
and this new report seemed to arrive just in time, for Whitey 
instantly said : 

“ Thar he goes agin, d’ye see, pokin’ his shovel in all 
aroun’. Now, ef the boys want me to leave, they kin say so, 
an’ I’ll go. ’Tain’t the easiest claim in the world to 
work, runnin’ this camp ain’t, an’ I’ll never hanker to be 
chief nowhar else ; but seein’ I’ve stuck to the boys, an’ 
seen ’em through from the fustj ’twouldn’t be exactly gent’e- 
manly, ’pears to me.” 

And for a moment Whitey hid his emotions in a tin cup, 
from which escaped perfumes suggesting the rye-fields of 
Kentucky. 

“ Nobody wants you to go, ’Whitey,” said Wolverine, one 
of the chief’s most faithful supporters. “Didn’t yer kick that 
New Hampshire feller out of camp when he kept a-sayin’ 
the saloon wuz the gate o’ hell ? ” 

“ Well,” said the chief, with a flush of modest pride, “ I 
don t deny it ; but I won’t remind the boys of it, ef they’ve 
forgot it.” 

“ An’ didn’t yer go to work,” said another, “ when all the 
fellers was a-askin’ what was to be done with them Chinesers 
— didn’t yer just order the boys to clean ’em out to wunst?” 

“That ain’t the best thing yer dun, neither!” exclaimed a 
third. “ I wonder does any of them galoots forgit how the 
saloon got a-fire when ev’rybody was asleep — liow the chief 
turned out the camp, and after the barkeeper got out the door, 
how the chief rushed in an’ rolled out all three of the barrels, 
and then went dead-bent fur the river with his clothes all 
a-blazin’ ? Whar’d we hev been for a couple of weeks ef it 
hadn’t bin fur them bar’ls ? ” 

The remembrance of this gallant act so affected Wol- 
verine, that he exclaimed : 


GENEEAL TKEATS EESTRICTED TO THREE PER DIEM. 59 

“ Whitey, we’ll stick to yer like tar-an’-feather, an’ ef 
cap’n an’ his friends git troublesome we’ll jes’ show ’em the 
trail, an’ seggest they’re big enough to git up a concern 
uv their own, instid of tryin’ to steal somebody else’s.” 

The chief felt that he was still dear to the hearts of his 
subjects, and so many took pains that day to renew their 
allegiance that he grew magnanimous — in fact, when the 
chief that evening invited the boys to drink, he pushed his 
own particular bottle to the captain — an attention as deli- 
cate as that displayed by a clergyman when he invites into 
his pulpit the minister of a different creed. 

Still the captain labored. So often did the latter stand 
treat that the barkeeper suddenly ran short of liquor, and 
was compelled, for a week, to restrict general treats to three 
per diem until he could lay in a fresh stock. 

The captain could hit corks and half-dollars in the air 
almost every time, but no opportunity occurred in which he 
could exercise his markmanship for the benefit of the 
camp. 

He also told any number of good stories, at which the 
boys, Whitey included, laughed heartily; he sang jolly 
songs, with a very fair tenor voice, and all the boys joined 
in the chorus ; and he played a banjo in style, which always 
set the boys to capering as gracefully as a crowd of bachelor 
bears. 

But still Whitey remained in camp and in office, and tho 
captain, who was as humane as he was ambitious, had/^o 
idea of attempting to remove the old chief by force. 

On Monday night the whole camp retired early, and slept 
soundly. Monday had at all times a very short evening at 
Black Hat, for the boys were generally weary after the 
duties and excitements of Sunday; but on this particular 
Monday a slide had threatened on the hillside, and the boys 
had been hard at work cutting and carrying huge logs to 
make a break or barricade. 

So, soon after supper they took a drink or two, and 
sprinkled to their several huts, and Black Hat was at peace, 


60 


PERFECT PEACE REIGNS AT BLACK HAT. 


There were no clogs or cats to make night hideous — no 
uneasy roosters to be sounding alarm at unearthly hours — no 
horrible policemen thumping the sidewalks with clubs — ■ 
no fashionable or dissipated people rattling about in car- 



THEY FOUND HIM SENSELESS, AND CAEKIED HIM TO THE SALOON MHELi. 
THE CANDLES WERE ALREADY LIGHTED. ONE OF THE MINERS WHO 
HAD BEEN A DOCTOR, PROMPTLY EXAMINED BIS BRUISES. 


riages. Excepting an occasional cough, or sneeze, or 
over-loud snore, the most perfect peace reigned at Black 
Hat. 

Suddenly a low but heavy rumble, and a trembling of 


THE LAND SLIDE. 


61 


the gronnd, roused eyery man in camp, and, rushing out of 
their huts, the miners saw a mass of stones and earth had 
been loosened far up the hillside, and were breaking oyer 
the barricade in one place, and coming down in a perfect 
torrent. 

They were fortunately moying toward the fiyer on a line 
obstructed by no houses, though the hut of old Miller, who 
was yery sick, was close to the rocky torrent. 

But while they stared^ a yt>nng pine-tree, perhaps a, foot 
thick, which had been torn loose by the rocks and brought 
down by them, suddenly tumbled, root first, oyer a steep rock, 
a few feet in front of old Miller’s door. The leyerage ex- 
erted by the lower portion of the stem threw the whole tree 
into a yertical position for an instant ; then it caught the 
wind, tottered, and finally fell directly on the front of old 
Miller’s hut, crushing in the gable and a portion of the 
front door, and threatening the hut and its unfortunate 
occupant with immediate destruction. 

A deep groan and many terrible oaths burst from the 
boys, and then, with one impulse, they rushed to the tree 
and attempted to move it ; but it lay at an angle of about 
forty-five degrees from the horizontal, its roots heavy with 
dirt, on the ground in front of the door, and its top high in 
the air. 

The boys could only lift the lower portion ; but should 
they do so, then the hut would be entirely crushed by the 
full weight of the tree. 

There was no window through which they could get 
Miller out, and there was no knowing how long the frail hut 
could resist the weight of the tree. 

Suddenly a well-known voice was heard shouting j 
“ Keep your head level. Miller, old chap — we’ll hey you 
out of that in no time. Hurry up, somebody, and borrow 
the barkeeper’s ropes. Whil4 I’m cuttin’, throw a rope over 
the top, and when she commences to go, haul all together 
and suddenly, then ’twill clear the hut.” 

In an instant later the boys saw, by the bright moon- 


G2 the CAPTAIN'S UNANIMOUS ELECTION. 

light, the captain, bareheaded, barefooted, with open shirt, 
standing on the tree directly over the crushed gable, and 
chopping with frantic rapidity. 

“ Hooray for cap’en ! ” shouted some one. 

“Hooray!” replied the crowd, and a feeble “hooray” 
was heard from between the logs of old Miller’s hut. 

Two or three men came hurrying back with the ropes, and 
one of them was dexterously thrown across a branch of the 
tree. Then the boys distributed themselves along both ends 
of the rope. 

“Easy!” screamed the captain. “Plenty of time. I’ll 
give the word. When I say, ‘Now,’ pull quick and all 
together. I won’t be long.” 

And big chips flew in undiminished quantity, while a 
commendatory murmur ran along both lines of men, and 
Whitey, the chief, knelt with his lips to one of the chinks of 
the hut, and assured old Miller that he was perfectly safe. 

“ Now ! ” shrieked the captain, suddenly. 

In his excitement, he stepped toward the top instead of 
the root of the tree ; in an instant the top of the tree was 
snatched from the hut, but it tossed the unfortunate captain 
into the air as easily as a sling tosses a stone. 

Every one rushed to the spot where he had fallen. They 
found him senseless, and carried him to the saloon, where 
the candles were already lighted. One of the miners, who 
had been a doctor, promptly examined his bruises, and ex- 
claimed : 

“ He’s two or three broken ribs, that’s all. It’s a wonder 
he didn’t break every bone in his body. He’ll be around all 
right inside of a month.” 

“Gentlemen,” said Whitey, “I resign. All in favor of 
the cap’en will please say ‘I.’ ” 

“ I,” replied every one. 

“ I don’t put the noes,” continued Whitey, “ because I’m 
a peaceable man, and don’t want to hev to kick any man 
mean enough to vote no. Cap’en, you’r boss of this camp, 
and I’m yourn obediently.” 


THE captain’s MAKE A DEAD SURE THINC. 


63 


Tlio captain opened liis eyes slowly, and replied : 

“ I’m mnch obliged, boys, but I won’t give Wliitey the 
trouble. Doctor’s mistaken — there’s someting broken in- 
side, and I haven’t got many minutes more to live.” 

“ Do yer best, cap’en,” said the barkeeper, encouragingly. 
“ Promise me you’ll stay alive, and I’ll go straight down to 
’Frisco, and get you all the champagne you can drink.” 

“ You’re very kind,” replied the captain, faintly ; “ but I’m 
sent for, and I’ve got to go. I’ve left the East to make my 
mark, but I didn’t expect to make it in real estate. Whitey, 
I was a fool for wanting to be chief of Black Hat, and you’ve 
forgiven me like a gentleman and a Christian. It’s getting 
dark — I’m thirsty — I’m going — gone ! ” 

The doctor felt the captain’s wrist, and said : 

“ Pact, gentlemen, he’s panned his last dirt.” 

“ Do the honors, boys,” said the barkeeper, placing glasses 
along- the bar. 

Each man filled his glass, and all looked at Whitey. 

“ Boys,” said Whitey, solemnly, “ ef the cap’en hed 
struck a nugget, good luck might hev spiled him ; ef he’d been 
chief of Black Hat, or any other place, he might hev got 
shot. But he’s made his mark, so nobody begrudges him, 
an’ nobody can rub it out. So here’s to ‘the cap’en’s mark, 
a dead sure thing.’ Bottoms up.” 

The glasses were emptied in silence, and turned bottoms 
uppermost on the bar. 

The boys were slowly dispersing, when one, who was 
strongly suspected of having been a Church member, 
remarked : 

“He was took of a sudden, so he shouldn’t be stuck up.” 

Whitey turned to him, and replied, with some asperity : 

“Young man, you’ll be lucky ef ypuWe ever stuck up as 
high as the captain.” ^ 

And all the boys understood wdiat Whitey meant. 


CODAGO. 


WO o’clock A. M. is supposed to bo a popular sleepi nr; 



1 hour the world oyer, and as Flatfoot Bar was a portion 
of the terrestrial sphere, it was but natural to expect its 
denizens to be in bed at that hour. 

Yet, on a certain morning twenty years ago, when the’*3 
was neither sickness nor fashionable entertainment to 
excuse irregular hours in camp, a bright light streamed from 
the only window of Ghagres Charley’s residence at Flatfoot 
Bar, and inside of the walls of Ghagres Charley’s domicile 
were half a dozen miners engaged in earnest conversation. 

Flatfoot Bar had never formally elected a town com- 
mittee, for the half -dozen men aforesaid had long ago 
modestly assumed the duties and responsibilities of city 
fathers, and so judicious had been their conduct, that no ono 
had ever expressed a desire for a change in the government. 

The six men, in half a dozen difieront positions, sur- 
rounded Ghagres Charley’s fire, and gazed into it as intently 
as if they were fire-worshipers awaiting the utterances of a 
salamanderish oracle. 

But the doughty Puritans of Cromwell’s time, while they 
trusted in God, carefully protected their powder from 
moisture, and the devout Mohammedan, to this day, ties np 
his camel at night before committing it to the keeping of the 
higher powers ; so it was but natural that the anxious ones 
at Flatfoot Bar vigorously ventilated their own ideas while 
they longed for light and knowledge. 

“ They ain’t ornaments to camp, no way you can fix it. 


SOME FL.VTPOOT BAK FOLKS. 


65 


tlifeni Gieasers ain’t,” said a tall miner, bestowing an effec- 
tive kick upon a stick of firewood, which had departed a 
short distance from his neighbors. 

“ Mississp’s right, fellers,” said the host. “ They ain’t got 
the slightest idee of the duties of citizens. They show 
themselves .down to the saloon, to be sure, an’ I never seed 
one of ’em a- waterin’ his liquor ; but when you’ve sed that, 
you’ve sed ev’rythin’.” 

“ Our distinguished friend speaks truthfully,” remarked 
Nappy Boney, the only Frenchman in camp, and possessing 
a nickname playfully contracted from the name of the first 
emperor. ‘‘ La gloire is nothing to them. Comprehends any 
one that they know not even of France’s most illustrious son, 
hjoetit caporal?'^ 

“ That’s bad, to be sure,” said Texas, cutting an enormous 
chew of tobacco, and passing both plug and knife ; “ but 
that might be overlooked; mebbe the schools down in 
Mexico ain’t up with the times. What I’m down on is, they 
hain’t got none of the eddication that comes nateral to a 
gentleman, even ef he never seed the outside of a school- 
house. Who ever heerd of one of ’em hevin’ a difficulty 
with any gentleman, at the saloon or on the crick ? They 
drar a good deal of blood, but it’s allers from some of their 
own kind, an’ up there by ’emselves. Ef they hed a grain 
of public spirit, not to say liberality, they’d do some of their 
amusements before the rest of us, instead of gougin’ the 
camp out of its constitutional amusements. Why, I’ve 
knowed the time when I’ve held in fur six hours on a stretch, 
till there could be fellers enough around to git a good deal 
of enjoyment out of it.” 

They wash out a sight of dust ! ” growled Lynn Taps, 
from the Massachusetts shoe district ; “ but I never could 
git one of ’em to put up an ounce on a game — they jest play 
by ’emselves, an’ keep all their washin’s to home.” 

“ Blarst ’em hall ! let’s give ’em tickets-o’ -leave, an’ show 
’em the trail ! ” roared Bracelets, a stout Englishman, who 
had on each wrist a red scar, which had suggested his name 


66 


‘‘them’s oub pbinciples.’ 


and unpleasant situations. “I believe in fair play, but I 
darsn’t keep my eyes boff of ’em sleepy-lookin’ tops, v lien 
tlieir flippers is anywheres near (heir knives, you know.” 

“ Well, what’s to be done to ’em ?” demanded Lynn Taps. 
*•' All this jawin’s well enough, but jaw never cleared out 
anybody ’xcep’ that time Samson tried, an’ then it came from 
an individual that- wasn’t related to any of this crowd.” 

“ Let ’em alone till next time they git into a muss, an’ 
then clean ’em all out of camp,” said Chagres Charley. 
“Let’s hev it onderstood that v;hile this camp cheerfully 
recognizes the right of a gentleman to shoot at sight an’ lay 
out his man, that it considers stabbin’ in the dark’s the same 
thing as murder. Them’s our principles, and folks might’s 
well know ’em fust as last. Good Lord ! what’s that ? ” 

All the men started to their feet at the sound of a long, 
loud yell. 

“ That’s one of ’em now ! ” ejaculated Mississip, with a 
huge oath. “Nobody but a Greaser ken holler that way — 
sounds like the last despairin’ cry of a dyin’ mule. There’s 
only eight or nine of ’em, an’ each of us is good fur two 
Greasers apiece — let’s make ’em git this minnit.” 

And Mississip dashed out of the door, followed by the 
other flve, revolvers in hand. 

The Mexicans lived together, in a hut made of raw hides, 
one of which constituted the door. 

The devoted six reached the hut, Texas snatched aside 
the hide, and each man presented his pistol at full cock. 

But no one fired; on the contrary, each man slo^zly 
dropped his pistol, and opened his eyes. 

There v/as no newly made corpse visible, nor did any 
Greasers savagely wave a bloody stiletto. 

But on the ground, insensible, lay a Mexican woman, and 
about her stood seven or eight Greasers, each looking even 
more dumb, incapable, and solemn than usual. 

The city fathers felt themselves in an awkward positir n, 
and Mississip finally asked, in the meekest of tones : 

“ What’s the matter?” 


GALLANTEY IN CAMP. 


67 


Slie Coclago s wife,” softly replied a Mexican. They 
fight in Chihuahua — ^he run away — she follow. She come 
here now — this minute — she fall on Codago — she say somc- 
tliing, we know not — he scream an’ run.” 

“Tie’s a low-lived scoundrel!” said Chagres Charley, 
between his teeth. “Ef my wife thort enough of me to 
follow me to the diggin’s, I wouldn’t do much runnin’ away. 
Tie’s a reg’lar black-hearted, white-livered ” 

“ Sh — h — h ! ” whispered Nappy, the Erenchman. “The 
lady is recovering, and she may have a heart.” 

“ Maria^ Madre piirissima ! ” low wailed the woman. “J/i 
mno — mi nino perdido ! ” 

“What’s she a-sayin’ ?” asked Lynn Taps, in a whisper. 

“She talk about little boy lost,” said the Mexican. 

“An’ her husband gone, too, poor woman!” said Chagres 
Charley, in the most sympathizing tones ever heard at 
Elatfoot Bar. But a doctor’d be more good to her jes’ now 
than forty sich husbands as her’n. Where’s the nearest 
doctor, fellers ? ” continued Chagres Charley. 

“ Up to Dutch Hill,” said Texas ; an’ ITl see he’s fetched 
inside of two hours.” 

Saying which, Texas dropped the raw-hide door, and 
hurried off. 

The remaining five strolled slowly back to Chagres 
Charley’s hut. 

“ Them Greasers hain’t never got nothin’,” said Mississip, 
suddenly ; “ an’ that woman’ll lay thar on the bare ground 
all night ’fore they think of makin’ her comfortable. Who’s 
got an extra blanket ? ” 

“ I ! ” said each of the four others ; and Nappy Boney 
exj)ressed the feeling of the whole party by exclaiming : 

“The blue sky is enough good to cover man when 
woman needs blankets.” 

Hastily Mississip collected the four extra blankets and 
both of his own, and, as he sped toward the Mexican hut, he 
stopped several times by the way to dexterously snatch 
blankets from sleeping forms. 



Mississip liad barely vanisliecl, wlien a liglit scratcbing 
was heard on the door. 

A Mexican opened it, and saw Nappy Boney, with 
extended hand and bottle. 


08 KAPrY eoney’s orFEEixa 

‘‘ Here j^on be,” said he, suddenly entering the Mexican 
hut, and startling the inmates into crossing themselves 
violently. “ Make the poor thing a decent bed, an’ we’ll hev 
a doctor here pretty soon.” 


SUDDE^^LY, BY THE GEA.TIE OE A FBESH LIGHT, THE BOYS SAI\’' THE FACE OF A 
BATHEB DIKTY, LAEGE-EYED, BEOWN-SKINNED MEXICAN BABY. 


THE SEARCH FOR THE CHILD. 


69 


“It is the eau-de-vie of la helle France,'^ he whispered. 
“ Tenderly I have cherished, but it is at the lady’s service.” 

Chagres Charley, Lynn Taps and Bracelets were com- 
posing their nerves wdth pipes about the fire they had 
surrounded early in the morning. Lynn Taps had just 
declared his disbelief of a soul inside of the Mexican frame, 
when the door was throwm open and an excited Mexican 
appeared. 

“ Her tongue come back ! ” he cried. “ She say she come 
over mountain — she bring little boy — she no eat, it was 
long time. Soon she must die, boy must die. What she do ? 
She put round boy her cloak, an’ leave him by rock, an’ 
hurry to tell. Maybe coyote get him. What can do?” 

“ WHiat can we do ? ” echoed Lynn Taps ; “ turn out every 
galoot in camp, and foller her tracks till we find it. Souls 
or no souls, don’t make no diff ’rence. I’ll tramp my legs 
o5f, ’fore that child shall be left out in the snow in them 
mountains.” 

Within five minutes every man in camp had been aroused. 

Each man swore frightfully at being prematurely turned 
out — each man hated the Greasers with all his heart and 
soul and strength ; but each man, as he learned what was 
the matter, made all possible haste, and fluently cursed all 
who were slower than himself. 

In fact, two or three irrepressible spirits, consuming with 
delay, started alone on independent lines of search. 

Chagres Charley appeared promptly, and assumed com- 
mand. 

“ Boys,” said he, “ we’ll sprinkle out into a line a couple 
of miles long, and march up the mountain till we reach the 
snovf. When I think it’s time. I’ll fire three times, an’ then 
each feller’ll face an’ tramp to the right, keepin’ a keerful 
lookout for a woman’s tracks p’intin’ t’ward camp. Ther 
can’t be no mistakin’ ’em, for them sennyritas hez the littlest 
kind o’ feet. When any feller finds her tracks, he’ll fire, an’ 
then we’ll rally on him. I wish them other fellers, instid 
of goin’ off half-cocked, lied tracked Codago, the low-lived 


70 


CODAGO AND HIS PACK. 


skunk. To think of him runnin’ away from wife, an’ young 
one, too ! Forward, git ! ” 

“ They hain't got no souls — that’s what made him do it, 
Charley,” said Lynn Taps, as the men deployed. 

Steadily the miners ascended the rugged slope ; rocks, 
trees, fallen trunks and treacherous holes impeded their 
progress, but did not stop them. 

A steady wind cut them to the bone, and grew more keen 
and fierce as they neared the snow. 

Suddenly Chagres Charley fired, and the boys faced to 
the right — a moment later another shot rallied the party ; 
those nearest it found Nappy Boney in a high state of ex- 
citement, and leaning over a foot-print. 

Mon Dieu he cried; “they have not the esprit, those 
Mexicans ; but her footprints might have been made by the 
adorable feet of one of my countrywomen, it is so small.” 

“ Yes,” said Mississip ; “ an’ one of them fellers that 
started ahead hez found it fust, fur here’s a man’s track 
a-goin’ up.” 

Bapidly the excited miners followed the tracks through 
the snow, and found them gradually leading to the regular 
trail across the mountain, which trail few men ventured 
upon at that season. Suddenly the men in advance stopped. 

“ Here ’tis, I reckon ! ” cried Mississip, springing across 
a small cleft in. the rocks, ^nd running toward a dark object 
lying on the sheltered side of a small cliff. “ Good God ! ” 
he continued, as he stooped down ; “ it’s Codago ! An’ he’s 
froze stiff.” 

“Serve him right, cuss him,” growled Lynn Taps. “I 
almost wish he had a soul, so he could catch it good an’ hot, 
now he’s gone ! ” 

“ He’s got his pack with him,” shouted Mississip, “ and 
a huggin’ it ez tight ez ef he could take it to — to wherever 
he’s gone to.” 

“No man with a soul could hev ben cool enough to 
pack up his traps after seein’ that ] 30 or woman’s face,” 
argued Lynn Taps. 


“it beats anything I EVER SEED.*' 71 

Mississip tore off a piece of his trowsers, struck fire with 
flint and steel, poured on whisky, and blew it into a flame. 

Rapidly the miners straggled up the trail, and halted 
opposite Mississip. 

“Well, I’ll be durned!” shouted the latter; “he ain’t 
got no shirt on, an’ there’s an ugly cut in his arm. It beats 
anything I ever seed ! ” 

One by one the miners leaped the cleft, and crowded 
about Mississip and stared. 

It was certainly Codago, and there was certainly his pack, 
made up in his poncho, in the usual Greaser manner, and 
held tightly in his arms. 

But while they stared, there was a sudden movement of 
the pack itself. 

Lynn Taps gave a mighty tug at it, extricated it from the 
dead man’s grasp, and rapidly undid it. 

Suddenly, by the glare of a fresh light, the boys saw the 
face of a rather dirty, large-eyed, brown-skinned Mexican 
baby ; and the baby, probably by way of recognition, raised 
high a voice such as the boys never heard before on that 
side of the Rocky Mountains. 

“ Here’s what that cut in his arm means,” shouted a 
miner who had struck a light on the trail ; “ there’s a 
finger-mark, done in blood on the snow, by the side of the 
trail, an’ a-pintin’ right to that ledge ; an’ here’s his shirt a- 
flappin’ on a stick stuck in a snow-bank lookin’ t’ward camp.” 

“ There ain’t no doubt ’bout what the woman said to him, 
or what made him yell an’ git, boys,” said Chagres Charley, 
solemnly, as he took a blanket from his shoulders and 
spread it on the ground. 

Mississip took off his hat, and lifting the poor Mexican 
from the snow, laid him in the blanket. Lynn Taps hid the 
baby, rewrapped, under his own blanket, and hurried down 
the mountain, while four men picked up Codago and fol- 
lowed. 

Lynn Taps scratched on the rawhide door ; the doctor 
opened it. 


72 


WALK UP, BOYS— FILL HIGH — HATS OFF.” 

Lynn Tapps unrolled the bundle, and its occupant again 1 
raised its voice. j 

The woman, who was lying motionless and with closed : 
eyes, sprang to her feet in an instant, and as Lynn Taps ; 
laid his burden on the blankets, the woman, her every dull | 
feature softened and lighted with motherly tenderness, threw 
her arms about the astonished Yankee, and then fell sob- 1 
bing at his feet. 

“ You’ve brought her the only medicine that’ll do her 
any good,” said the doctor, giving the baby a gentle dig 
under the ribs as he picked up his saddle-bags. 

Lynn Taps made a hasty escape, and reached the 
saloon, which had been hurriedly opened as the crowd was 
heard approaching. 

The bearers of the body deposited it gently on the floor, 
and the crowd filed in quietly. 

Lynn Taps walked up to the bar, and rapped upon it. 

‘‘Walk up, boys,” said he; “fill high; hats off. Here’s 
Codago. Maybe he didn't have a soul, but if he didn't, souls 
ain’t needed in this world. Buttoms up, every man.” 

The toast was drunk quietly and reverently, and w^hen i^* 
was suggested that the Greasers themselves should have 
participated, they were all summoned, and the same toast 
was drank again. 

The next day, as the body of Codago was being carried to 
a newly dug grave, on the high ground overlooking the 
creek, and the Mexicans stood about, as if dumb staring 
and incessant smoking were the only proprieties to be 
observed on such occasions, Lynn Taps thoughtfully 
offered his arm to the weeping widow, and so sorrowful was 
she throughout the. performance of the sad rites, that Lynn 
Taps was heard to remark that, however it might be with 
the men, there could be no doubt about Mexican women’s 
possessing souls. As a few weeks later the widow became 
Mrs. Lynn Taps, there can be no doubt that her second 
husband’s final convictions were genuine. 


THE LAST PIKE AT JAGGEK’S BEND. 


W HEEE they came from no one knew. Among the 
farmers near the Bend there was ample ability to 
conduct researches beset by far more difficulties than was 
that of the origin of the Pikes ; but a charge of buckshot 
which a good-natured Yankee received one evening, soon 
after putting questions to a venerable Pike, exerted a de- 
pressing. influence upon the spidt of investigation. They 
were not bloodthirsty, these Pikes, but they had good 
reason to suspect all inquirers of being at least deputy 
sheriffs, if not worse ; and a Pike’s hatred of officers of the 
law is equaled in intensity only by his hatred for manual 
labor. 

But while there was doubt as to the fatherland of the 
little colony of Pikes at dagger’s Bend, their every neighbor 
would willingly make affidavit as to the cause of their locat- 
ing and remaining at the Bend. When humanitarians and 
optimists argued that it was because the water was good and 
convenient, that the Bend itself caught enough drift-wood 
for fuel, and that the dirt would yield a little gold when 
manipulated by placer and pan, all farmers and stockowners 
would freely admit the validity of these reasons ; but the 
admission was made with a countenance whose indignation 
and sorrow indicated that the greater causes were yet 
unnamed. With eyes speaking emotions which words could 
not express, they would point to sections of wheatfields 
minus the grain-bearing heads — to hides and hoofs of cattle 
anslaughtered by themselves — to mothers of promising 


74 


AN ARISTOCRATIC COMMUNITY. 


calves, whose tender bleatings answered not the maternal 
call — to the places which had once known fine horses, but 
had been untenanted since certain Pikes had gone across 
the mountains for game. They would accuse no man 
wrongfully, but in a country where all farmers had wheat 
and cattle and horses, and where prowling Indians and Mex- 
icans were not, how could these disappearances occur ? 

But to people owning no property in the neighborhood 
— to tourists and artists — the Pike settlement at the Bend 
was as interesting and ugly as a skye-terrier. The archi- 
tecture of the village was of original style, and no duplicate 
existed. Of the half-dozen residences, one was composed 
exclusively of sod ; another of bark ; yet another of poles, 
roofed vdtn a wagon-cover, and plastered on the outside 
with mud ; the fourth was of slabs, nicely split from logs 
which had drifted into the Bend ; the fifth was of hide 
stretched over a frame strictly gothic from foundation to 
ridgepole ; while the sixth, burrowed into , the hillside, dis- 
played only the barrel which formed its chimney. 

A more aristocratic community did not exist on the Pa- 
cific Coast. Visit the Pikes v/hen you would, you could 
.lever see any one working. Of churches, school-houses, 
stores and other plebeian institutions, there were none ; and 
no Pike demeaned himself by entering trade, or soiled his 
hands by agriculture. 

Yet unto this peaceful, contented neighborhood there 
found his way a visitor who had been everywhere in the 
world without once being made welcome. He came to the 
house built of slabs, and threatened the wife of Sam Trot- 
wine, owner of the house ; and Sam, after sunning himself 
uneasily for a day or two, mounted a pony, and rode off for 
a doctor to drive the intruder away. 

When he returned he found all the men in the camp 
seated on a log in front of his own door, and then he knew 
he must prepare for the worst — only one of the great influ- 
ences of the world could force every Pike from his own 
door at exactly the same time. There they sat, yellow-faced, 


I WISH TER GOD I COULD DIE FUR YER.” 75 

bearded, long-backed and bent, each looking like the other, 
and all like Sam ; and, as he dismounted, they all looked at 
him. 

“ How is she ? ” said Sam, tying his horse and the doctor’s, 
while the latter went in. 

“Well,” said the oldest man, with deliberation, “the 
wimmin’s all thar ef that’s any sign.” 

Each man on the log inclined his head slightly but 
positively to the left, thus manifesting belief that Sam had 
been correctly and sufficiently answered. Sam himself 
seemed to regard his information in about the same 
manner. 

Suddenly the raw hide which formed the door of Sam’s 
house was pushed aside, and a- woman came out and called 
Sam, and he disappeared from his log. 

As he entered his hut, all the women lifted sorrowful 
faces and retired ; no one even lingered, for the Pike has 
not the common human interest in other people’s business ; 
he lacks that, as well as certain similar virtues of civiliza- 
tion. 

Sam dropped by the bedside, and was human ; his heart 
was in the right place ; and though heavily intrenched by 
years of laziness and whisky and tobacco, it could be brought 
to the front, and it came now. 

The dying woman cast her eyes appealingly at the 
surgeon, and that worthy stepped outside the door. Then 
the yellow-faced woman said : 

“ Sam, doctor says I ain’t got much time left. 

“ Mary,” said Sam, “ I wish ter God I could die fur yer. 
The children ”* 

“ It’s them I want to talk about, Sam,” replied his wife. 
‘An’ I wish they could die with me, rather’n hev ’em liv 
ez I’ve lied to. Not that you ain’t been a kind husband to 
me, for you hev. Whenever I wanted meat yev got it, 
somehow ; an’ when yev been ugly drunk, yev kep’ away 
from the house. But I’m dyin’, Sam, and it’s cos you’ve 
killed me.” 


76 


HIS LIPS BROUGHT TO HER WAN FACE A SMILE. 


“ Good God, Mary ! ” cried the astonished Sam, jumping 
up ; “ jure crazy — here, doctor ! ” 

“ Doctor can’t do no good, Sam ; keep still, and listen, ef 
yer love me like yer once said yer did ; for I hevn’t got 
much breath left,” gasped the woman. 

“Mary,” said the aggrieved Sam, “I swow to God I 
dunno what yer drivin’ at.” 

“ It’s jest this, Sam,” replied the woman : “ Yer tuk me, 
tellin’ me ye’d love me an’ honor me an’ pertect me. You 
mean to say, now, yev done it ? I’m a-dyin’, Sam — I hain’fc 
got no favors to ask of nobody, an’ I’m tellin’ the truth, not 
knowin’ what word’ll be my last.” 

“ Then tell a feller where the killin’ came in, Mary, for 
heaven’s sake,” said the unhappy Sam. 

“ It’s come in all along, Sam,” said the woman ; “ there 
is women in the States, so I’ve heerd, that marries fur a 
home, an’ bread an’ butter, but you promised more’n that, 
Sam. An’ I’ve waited. An’ it ain’t come. An’ there’s 
somethin’ in me that’s all starved and cut to pieces. An’ it’s 
your fault, Sam. I tuk yer fur better or fur wuss, an’ I’ve 
never grumbled.” 

“I know yer hain’t, Mary,” whispered the conscience- 
stricken Pike. “An’ I know what 3^er mean. Ef God’ll 
only let yer be fur a few years. I’ll see ef the thing can’t be 
helped. Don’t cuss me, Mary — I’ve never knowed how I’ve 
been a-goin’. I wish there was somethin’ I could do ’fore you 
go, to pay yer all I owe yer. I’d go back on everything 
that makes life worth hevin’.” 

“Pay it to the children, Sam,” said the sick woman, 
raising herself in her miserable bed. “ I’ll forgive yer 
everything if you’ll do the right thing fur them. Do — do — 
everything ! ’ said the woman, throwing up her arms and 
falling backward. Her husband’s arm caught her ; his lips 
brought to her wan face a smile, which the grim visitor, whc 
an instant later stole her breath, pityingly left in full 
possession of the rightful inheritance from which it had 
been so long excluded. 


I NEVER HEARD OF SUCH A THING.’ 


77 


Sam knelt for a moment with his face beside his wife — 
what he said or did the Lord only knew, but the doctor, who 
was of a speculative mind, afterward said that when Sam 
appeared at the door he showed the first Pike face in which 
he had ever seen any signs of a soul. 

Sam went to the sod house, where lived the oldest woman 
in the camp, and briefly announced the end of his wife. 
Then, after some consultation with the old woman, Sam rode 
to town on one of his horses, leading another. He came 
back with but one horse and a large bundle ; and soon the 
women were making for Mrs. Trotwine her last earthly robe, 
and the first new one she had worn for years. The next day 
a wagon brought a coffin and a minister, and the whole camp 
j silently and respectfully followed Mrs. Trotwine to a home 
with which she could find no fault. 

For three days all the male Pikes in the camp sat on the 
log in front of Sam’s door, and expressed their sympathy as 
did the three friends of Job — that is, they held their peace. 
But on the fourth their tongues were unloosed. As a con- 
versationalist the Pike is not a success, but Sam’s actions 
were so unusual and utterly unheard of, that it seemed as if 
even the stones must have wondered and communed among 
themselves. 

“I never heard of such a thing,” said Brown Buck; “he’s 
gone an’ bought new clothes for each of the four young 
’uns.” 

“ Yes,” said the patriarch of the camp, “ an’ this mornin’, 
when I went down to the bank to soak my head, ’cos last 
night’s liquor didn’t agree with it, I seed Sam with all his 
young ’uns as they wuz a washin’ their face an’ hands with 
soap. They’ll ketch their death an’ be on the hill with 
their mother ’fore long, if he don’t look out ; somebody ort 
to reason with him.” 

“ ’Twon’t do no good,” sighed Limping Jim. “ He’s lost 
his head, an’ reason just goes into one ear and out at t’other. 
When he was scrapin’ aroun’ the front door t’other day, an’ 
I asked him what he wuz a-layin’ the ground all bare an’ 


78 


KUIN TO JAGGER’s BEND. 


desolate for, lie said he was done keepin’ pig-pen. Now 
everybody but him knows he never had a pig. His head’s 
gone, just mark my words.” 

On the morning of the fourth day Sam’s friends had just 
secured a full attendance on the log, and were at work upon 
their first pipes, when they were startled by seeing Sam 
harness his horse in the wagon and put all his children 
into it. 

“ Whar yer bound fur, Sam ? ” asked the patriarch. 

Sam blushed as near as a Pike could, but answered with 
only a little hesitation : 

‘‘ Goin’ to take ’em to school to Maxfield — goin’ to do it 
ev’ry day.” 

The incumbent of the log were too nearly paralyzed to 
remonstrate, but after a few moments of silence the patriarch 
remarked, in tones of feeling, yet decision : 

“ He’s hed a tough time of it, but he’s no bizness to ruin 
the settlement. I’m an old man myself, an’ I need peace of 
mind, so I’m goin’ to pack up my traps and mosey. When 
the folks at Maxfield knows what he’s doin’, they’ll make 
him a constable or a justice, an’ I’m too much of a man to 
live nigh any sich.” 

And next day the patriarch wheeled his family and pro- 
perty tp parts unknown. 

A few days later Jim Merrick, a brisk farmer a few miles 
from the Bend, stood in front of his own house, and shaded 
his eyes in solemn wonder. It couldn’t be — he’d never 
heard of such a thing before — yet it was — there was no doubt 
of it — there w^as a Pike riding right toward him, in open 
daylight. He could swear that Pike had often visited him 
— that is, his wheatfield and corral — after dark, but a day- 
light visit from a Pike was as unusual as a social call of a 
Samaritan upon a Jew. And when Sam — for it was he — 
approached Merrick and made his business known, the 
farmer was more astonished and confused than he had ever 
been in his life before. Sam wanted to know for how much 
money Merrick would plow and plant a hundred and sixty 


SAM EKTEES A QUARTER SECTION. 


79 


acres of wheat for him, and whether he would take Sam’s 
horse — a fine animal, brought from the States, and for which 
Sam could show a bill of sale — as security for the amount 
until he could harvest and sell his crop. Merrick so well 
understooi the Pike nature, that he made a very liberal 
offer, and afterward said he would have* paid handsomely 
for the chance. 

A few days later, and the remaining Pikes at the Bend 
experienced the greatest scare that had ever visited their 
souls. A brisk man came into the Bend with a tripod on 
his shoulder, and a wire chain, and some wire pins, and a 
queer machine under his arm, and before dark the Pikes 
understood that Sam had deliberately constituted himself a 
renegade by entering a quarter section of land. Next morn- 
ing two more residences were empty, and the remaining 
fathers of the hamlet adorned not Sam’s log, but wandered 
about with faces vacant of all expression save the agony of 
the patriot who sees his home invaded by corrupting influ- 
ences too powerful for him to resist. 

Then Merrick sent up a gang-plow and eight horses, and 
bhe tender green of Sam’s quarter section was rapidly 
changed to a dull-brown color, which is odious unto the eye 
of the Pike. Day by day the brown spot grew larger, and 
one morning Sam arose to find all his neighbors departed, 
having wreaked their vengeance upon him by taking away 
his dogs. And in his delight at their disappearance, Sam 
freely forgave them all. 

Begularly the children were carried to and from school, 
and even to Sunday-school — regularly every evening Sam 
visited the grave on the hillside, and came back to lie by the 
hour looking at the sleeping darlings — little by little farmers 
began to realize that their property was undisturbed — little 
by little Sam’s wheat grew and waxed golden ; and then 
there came a day when a man from ’Frisco came and 
changed it into a heavier gold — more gold than Sam had 
ever seen before. And the farmers began to stop in to see 
Sam, and their children came to see his, and kind women 


80 


THE GOLDEN HAKVEST. 


jere unusually kind to the orphans, and as day by day Sam 
took his sohtary walk on the hillside, the load on his heai^ 

EJt *“• 


FIKST PKATEK AT HANNEY’S. 


H ANNEX’S DIGGINGS certainly needed a missionary, if 
any place ever did; but, as one of the boys once re- 
marked during a great lack of water, ‘‘ It had to keep on a- 
needin’.” Zealous men came up by steamer via the Isthmus, 
and seemed to consume with their fiery haste to get on 
board the vessel for China and Japan, and carry the glad 
tidings to the heathen. Self-sacrificing souls gave up home 
and friends, and hurried across, overland, to brave the 
Pacific and bury themselves among the Australasian savages. 
But, though they all passed in sight of Hanney’s, none of 
them paused to give any attention to the souls who had 
flocked there. Men came out from ’Frisco and the East to 
labor with the Chinese miners, who were the only peaceable 
and well-behaved people in the mines ; but the white-faced, 
good-natured, hard-swearing, generous, heavy-drinking, en- 
thusiastic, murderous Anglo-Saxons they let severely alone. 
Perhaps they thought tJiat hearts in which the good seed 
had once been sown, but failed to come up into fruit, were 
barren soil ; perhaps they thought it preferable to be killed 
and eaten by cannibals than to be tumbled into a gulch by 
a revolver-shot, while the shootist strolled calmly off in com- 
pany with his approving conscience, never thinking to 
ascertain whether his bullet had completed the business, or 
whether a wounded man might not have to fight death and 
coyotes together. 

At any rate, the missionaries let Hanney’s alone. If any 
One with an unquenchable desire to carry the Word where it 


82 


PENTECOST CHAPEL. 


is utterly ■unknC'^Ti, a digestion without fear, and a full-proof 
article of common sense (these last two requisites are abso- 
lute), should be looking for an eligible location, Hanney’s is 
just the place for him, and he need give himself no trouble 
for fear some one would step in before him. If he has 
several dozens of similarly constituted friends, they can all 
find similar locations by betaking themselves to any mining 
camp in the West. 

As Hanney’s had no preacher, it will be readily imagined 
it had no church. With the first crowd who located there 
came an insolvent rumseller from the East. He called him- 
self Pentecost, which was as near his right name as is usual 
with miners, and the boys dubbed his shop “Pentecost 
Chapel ” at once. The name, somehow, reached the East, 
for within a few months there reached the post-office at 
Hanney’s a document addressed to “ Preacher in charge of 
Pentecost Chapel.” The postmaster went up and down the 
brook in high spirits, and told the boys ; they instantly 
dropped shovel and pan, formed line, and escorted the post- 
master and document to the chapel. Pentecost acknow- 
ledged the joke, and stood treat for the crowd, after which 
he solemnly tore the wrapper, and disclosed the report of a 
certain missionary society. Modestly expressing his giatifi- 
cation at the honor, and his unworthiness of it, he moved 
that old Thompson, who had the loudest voice in the crowd, 
should read the report aloud, he, Pentecost, volunteering to 
furnish Thompson all necessary spirituous aid during the 
continuance of his task. Thompson promptly signified his 
acquiescence, cleared his throat with a glass of amber-colored 
liquid, and commenced, the boys meanwhile listening atten- 
tively, and commenting critically. 

“ Too much cussed heavenly twang,” observed one, disap- 
provingly, as one letter largely composed of Scriptural 
extracts was read. 

“Why the deuce didn’t he shoot?” indignantly demanded 
another, as a tale of escape from heathen pursuers was 
read. 


THE CONTENTS OF THE HAT. 


83 


“Shot up wimmen in a derned dark room ! Well, FU be 
durned!” soliloquized a yellow - haired Missourian, as 
Thompson read an account of a Zenana. “ Keckon they’d set 
an infernal sight higher by wimmen if they wuz in the dig- 
gins’ six months — hey, fellers ? ” 

“ You bet ! ” emphatically responded a majority of those 
present. 

Before the boys became very restive, Thompson finished 
the pamphlet, including a few lines on the cover, which 
stated that the society was greatly in need of funds, and that 
contributions might be sent to the society’s financial agent 
in Boston. Thompson gracefully concluded his service by 
passing the hat, with the following net result : Two revol- 
vers, one double-barreled pistol, three knives, one watch, two 
rings (both home-made, valuable and fearfully ugly), a poc- 
ket-inkstand, a silver tobacco-box, and forty or fifty ounces of 
dust and nuggets. Boston Bill, who was notoriously absent- 
minded, dropped in a pocket-comb, but, on being sternly 
called to order by old Thompson, cursed himself most 
fluently, and redeemed his disgraceful contribution with a 
gold double-eagle. “The Webfoot,” who was the most 
unlucky man in camp, had been so wrought upon by the 
tale of one missionary who had lost his all many times in 
succession, sympathetically contributed his only shovel, for 
which act he was enthusiastically cursed and liberally 
treated at the bar, while the shovel was promptly sold at 
auction to the highest bidder, who presented it, with a 
staggering slap between the shoulders, to its original owner. 
The remaining non-legal tenders were then converted into 
gold-dust, and the whole dispatched by express, with a grim 
note from Pentecost, to the society’s treasurer at Boston. 
As the society was controlled by a denomination which does 
not understand how good can come out of evil, no detail of 
this contribution ever appeared in print. But a few months 
thereafter there did appear at Hanney’s a thin-chested, large- 
headed youth, with a heavily loaded mule, who announced 
himself as duly accredited by the aforementioned society to 


84 


THE YOUNG IVIAN GOES FOR HIS MULE. 


preach the Gospel among the miners. The boys received 
him cordially, and Pentecost offered him the nightly hospi- 
tality of curling up to sleep in front of the bar-room fire- 
place. His mule’s load proved to consist largely of tracts, 
which he vigorously distributed, and which the boys used to 
wrap up dust in. He nearly starved while trying to learn to 
cook his own food, so some of the boys took him in and fed 
him. He tried to persuade the boys to stop drinking, and 
they good-naturedly laughed ; but when he attempted to 
break up the “ little game ” which was the only amusement 
of the camp — the only steady amusement, for fights were 
short and irregular — the camp rose in its wrath, and the 
young man hastily rose and went for his mule. 

But at the time of which this story treats a missionary 
would have fared even worse, for the boys where wholly 
absorbed by a very unrighteous, but still very darling, 
pleasure. A pair of veteran knifeists, who had fought each 
other at sight for almost ten years every time they met, had 
again found themselves in the same settlement, and Hanney’s 
had the honor to be that particular settlement. ‘‘ Judge ” 
Briggs, one of the heroes, had many years before discussed 
with his neighbor, Billy Bent, the merits of two opposing 
brands of mining shovels. In the course of the chat they 
drank considerable villainous whisky, and naturally resorted 
to knives as final arguments. The matter might have 
ended here, had either gained a decided advantage over the 
other ; but both were skillful — each inflicted and received so 
near the same number of wounds, that the wisest men in 
camp were unable to decide which whipped. Now, to 
average Californians in the mines this is a most distressing 
state of affairs ; the spectators and friends of the combat- 
ants waste a great deal of time, liquor, and blood on the 
subject, while the combatants themselves feel unspeakably 
uneasy on the neutral ground between victory and defeat. 
At Sonora, where Billy and the Judge had their first en- 
counter, there was no verdict, so the Judge indignantly 
shook the dust from his feet and went elsewhere. Soon 


ALWAYS TOOK HIS WHISKY STRAIGHT. 

Billy happened in at the same place, and a set-to occurred 
at sight, in which the average was not disarranged. Both 
men went about, for a month or two, in a patched-up condi- 
tion, and then Billy roamed off, to be soon met by the Judge 
with the usual result. Both men were known by reputation 
all through the gold regions, and the advent of either at any 
“ gulch,” or “ washin’,” was the best advertisement the 
saloon-keepers could desire. In the East, hundreds of n:»3n 
would have tried to reason the men out of this feud, and 
some few would have forcibly separated them while fighting ; 
but in the diggings any interference in such matters is con- 
sidered impertinent, and deserving of punishment. 

Hanney’s had been fairly excited for a week, for the 
J udge had arrived the week before, and his points had been 
carefully scrutinized and weighed, time and again, by every 
man in the camp. There seemed nothing unusual about 
him — he was of middle size, and long hair and beard, a not 
unpleasant expression, and very dirty clothes ; he never 
jumped a claim, always took his whisky straight, played as 
fair a game of poker as the average of the boys, and never 
stole a mule from any one whiter than a Mexican. The boys 
had just about ascertained all this, and made their “ blind ” 
bets on the result of the next fight, when the whole camp 
was convulsed with the intelligence that Billy Bent had also 
arrived. Work immediately ceased, except in the immediate 
vicinity of the champions, and the boys stuck close to the 
chapel, that being the spot where the encounter should 
naturally take place. Miners thronged in from fifty miles 
around, and nothing bui; a special mule express saved the 
camp from the horror of Pentecost’s bar being inadequate to 
the demand. Between “ straight bets ” and “ hedging ” 
most of the gold dust in camp had been “ put up,” for a bet 
is the only California backing of an opinion. As the men 
did not seem to seek each other, the boys had ample time to 
“grind things down to a pint,” as the camp concisely ex- 
pressed it, and the matter had given excuse for a dozen 
minor fights, when order was suddenly restored one after- 


“exquisite carving” AT hanney’s. 

noon by the entrance of Billy and liis neighbors, just as the 
Judge and Ms neighbors were finishing a drink. 

The boys immediately and silently formed a ring, on tho 
outer edge of which were massed all the men who had been 
outside, and who came pouring in like fiies before a shower. 
No one squatted or hugged the wall, for it was understood 
tliat these two men fought only with knives, so the specta- 
tors were in a state of abject safety. 

The Judge, after settling for the drinks, turned, and saw 
for the first time his enemy. 

“ Hello, Billy ! ” said he, pleasantly ; “ let’s take a drink 
first.” 

Billy, who was a red-haired man, with a snapping- turtle 
mouth, but not a vicious-looking man for all that, briefly 
replied, “All right,” and these two determined enemies 
clinked their glasses with the unconcern of mere social 
drinkers. 

But, after this, they proceeded promptly to business ; 
the Judge, who was rather slow on his guard, was the owner 
of a badly cut arm within three minutes by the bar-keeper’s 
watch, but not until he had given Billy, who was parrying a 
thrust, an ugly gash in his left temple. 

There was a busy hum during the adjustment of bets on 
“first blood,” and the combatants very considerately re- 
frained from doing serious injury during this temporary 
distraction ; but within five minutes more they had exchanged 
chest wounds, but too slight to be dangerous. 

Betting became furious — each man fought so splendidly, 
that the boys were wild with delight and enthusiasm. Bets 
were roared back and forth, and when Pentecost, by virtue 
of his universally conceded authority, commanded silence, 
there was a great deal of finger-telegraphy across the circle, 
and head-shaking in return. 

Such exquisite carving had never before been seen afc 
Hanney’s — that was freely admitted by all. Men pitied 
absent miners all over the State, and wondered why this 
delightful lingering, long-drawn-out system of slaughter was 


THE DOCTOR AT HAND. 


87 


not more popular than the brief and commonplace method 
of the revolver. The Webfoot rapturously and softly quoted 
the good Doctor Watt’s: 

“ My willing soul would stay 
In such a place as this, 

And ” 

when suddenly his cup of bliss was dashed to the ground, 
for Billy, stumbling, fell upon his own knife, and received a 
severe cut in the abdomen. 

Wounds of this sort are generally fatal, and the boys had 
experience enough in such matters to know it. In an 
instant the men who had been calmly viewing a life-and- 
death conflict bestirred themselves to help the sufferer. 
Pentecost passed the bottle of brandy over the counter ; half 
a dozen men ran to the spring for cold water ; others hastily 
tore off coats, and even shirts, with which to soften a bench 
for the wounded man. No one went for the Doctor, for that 
worthy had been viewing the fight professionally frqpi the 
first, and had knelt beside the wounded man at exactly the 
right moment. After a brief examination, he gave his 
opinion in the following professional style : 

No go, Billy ; you’re done for.” 

“ Good God ! ” exclaimed the Judge, who had watched 
the Doctor with breathless interest ; “ain’t ther’ no chance ?” 

“ Nary,” replied the Doctor, decidedly. 

“ I’m a ruined man — I’m a used-up cuss,” said the Judge, 
with a look of bitter anguish. “ I wish I’d gone under, 
too.” 

“ Easy, old boss,” suggested one of the boys ; “ you didn’t 
do him, yer know.” 

“ That’s what’s the matter ! ” roared the Judge, savagely ; 
“ nobody ’ll ever know which of us whipped. 

And the Judge sorrowfully took himself off, declining 
most resolutely to drink. 

Many hearts were full of sympathy for the Judge ; but 
the poor fellow on the bench seemed to need most just then. 


88 


“can’t nobodt pray?’ 


He had asked for some one who could write, and was dic- 
tating, in whispers, a letter to some person. Then he drank 
some brandy, and then some water ; then he freely acquitted 
the Judge of having ever fought any way but fairly. But 
still his mind seemed burdened. Finally, in a very thin, 
weak voice, he stammered out : 

“ I don’t want — to make — to make it uncomfortable — for 
— for any of — you fellers, but — is ther’ a — a preacher in the 
camp ? ” 

The boys looked at each other inquiringly ; men from 
every calling used to go to the mines, and no one would 
have been surprised if a backsliding priest, or even bishop, 
had stepped to the front. But none appeared, and the 
wounded man, after looking despairingly from one to 
another, gave a smothered cry. 

“ Oh, God, hez a miserable wretch got to cut hisself open, 
and then flicker out, without anybody to say a prayer for 
him?” 

The boys looked sorrowful — if gold-dust could have 
bought prayers, Billy would have had a first-class assort- 
ment in an instant. 

“ There’s Deacon Adams over to Pattin’s,” suggested a 
bystander; “an’ they do say he’s a reg’lar rip-roarer at 
prayin’ ! But’twould take four hours to go and fetch him.” 

“ Too long,” said the Doctor. 

“Down in Mexico, at the cathedral,” said another, 
“ they pray for a feller after he’s dead, when yer pay ’em fur 
it, an’ they say it’s jist the thing — sure pop. I’ll give yer 
my word, Billy, an’ no go back, that I’ll see the job done up 
in style fur yer, ef that’s any comfort.” 

“ I want to hear it myself,” groaned the sufferer ; “ I 
don’t feel right ; can’t nobody pray — nobody in the crowd ? ” 

Again the boys looked inquiringly at each other, but 
this time it was a little shyly. If he had asked for some one 
to go out and steal a mule, or kill a bear, or gallop a buck- 
jumping mustang to ’Frisco, they would have fought for the 
chance ; but praying — praying was entirely out of their line. 


THE PRAYEE. 


89 


The silence became painful : soon slouched hats were 
hauled down over moist eyes, and shirt-sleeves and bare 
arms seemed to find something unusual to attend to in the 
boys’ faces. Big Brooks commenced to blubber aloud, and 
was led out by old Thompson, who wanted a chance to get 
out of doors so he might break down in private. Finally 
matters were brought to a crisis by Mose — no one knew his 
other name. Mose uncovered a sandy head, face and beard, 
and remarked : 

‘‘ I don’t want to put on airs in this here crowd, but ef 
nobody else ken say a w^ord to the Lord about Billy Bent, 
I’m a-goin’ to do it myself. It’s a bizness I’ve never bin in, 
but ther’s nothin’ like tryin’. This meetin’ ’ll cum to order 
to wunst.” 

“ Hats off in church, gentlemen ! ” commanded Pentecost. 

Off came every hat, and some of the boys knelt down, as 
Mose knelt beside the bench, and said : 

“ Oh, Lord, here’s Billy Bent needs ’tendin’ to ! He’s 
panned out his last dust, an’ he seems to hev a purty clear 
idee that this is his last chance. He wants you to give him 
a lift. Lord, an’ it’s the opinion of this house thet he needs 
it. ’Tain’t none of our bizness what he’s done, an’ ef it wuz, 
you’d know more about it than we cud tell yer ; but it’s 
mighty sartin that a cuss that’s been in the diggins fur years 
needs a sight of mendin’ up before he kicks the bucket.” 

“ That’s so,” responded two or three, very emphatically. 

‘‘ Billy’s down. Lord, an’ no decent man b’lieves that the 
Lord ’ud hit a man when he’s down, so there’s one or two 
things got to be done — either he’s got to be let alone, or he’s 
got to be helped. Lettin’ him alone won’t do him or any- 
body else enny good, so helpin’s the holt, an’ as enny one uv 
us tough fellers would help ef we knew how to, it’s only fair 
to suppose thet the Lord ’ll do it a mighty sight quicker. 
Now, what Billy needs is to see the thing in thet light, an’ 
you ken make him do it a good deal better than we ken. It’s 
mighty little fur the Lord to do, but it’s meat an’ drink an’ 
clothes to Billy just now. When we wuz boys, sum uv us 


90 


THE BLESSINO. 


read some promises ef you’rn in thet Book thet wes writ a 
good spell ago by chaps in the Old Country, an’ though 
Sunday-school teachers and preachers mixed the matter up 
in our minds, an’ got us all tangle-footed, we know they’re 
dar, an’ you’ll know what we mean. Now, Lord, Billy’s jest 
the boy — he’s a hard case, so you can’t find no better stuff 
to work on — he’s in a bad fix, thet we can’t do nuthin’ fur, so 
it’s jest yer chance. He ain’t exactly the chap to make an A 
Number One Angel ef, but he ain’t the man to forget a 
friend, so he’ll be a handy feller to hev aroun’.” 

“Feel any better, Billy?” said Mose, stopping the 
prayer for a moment. 

“A little,” said Billy, feebly; ‘‘but you want to tell the 
whole yarn. I’m sorry for all the wrong I’ve done.” 

“ He’s sorry for all his deviltry. Lord ” 

“ An’ I ain’t got nothin’ agin the Judge,” continued the 
sufferer. 

“An’ he don’t bear no malice agin the Judge, which he 
shouldn’t, seein’ he generally gin as good as he took. An’ 
the long an’ short of it. Lord, is jest this — he’s a dyin’, an’ 
he wants a chance to die with his mind easy, an’ nobody 
else can make it so, so we leave the whole job in your hands, 
only puttin’ in, fur Billy’s comfort, thet we recollect hearing 
how yer forgiv’ a dyin’ thief, an’ thet it ain’t likely yer 
a-goin’ to be harder on a chap thet’s alwas paid fur what he 
got. Thet’s the whole story. Amen.” 

Billy’s hand, rapidly growing cold, reached for that of 
Mose, and he said, v/ith considerable effort : 

Mose, yer came in ez handy as a nugget in a gone-up 
claim. God bless yer, Mose. I feel better inside. Ef I get 
through the clouds, an’ hev a livin’ chance to say a word to 
them as is the chiefs dar, thet word ’ll be fur you, Mose. 
God bless yer, Mose, an’ ef my blessin’s no account, it can’t 
cuss yer, ennyhow. This claim’s washed out, feller? an’ here 
goes the last shovelful, to see ef ther’s enny gold in .g er not.” 

And Billy departed this life, and the boys drank to the 
repose of his soul. 


THE NEW SHEEIEE. OF BUNKEE COUNTY. ' 


H e suited the natives exactly. What they would have 
done had he- not been available, they shuddered to con- 
template. ' The county was so new a one that but three men 
had occupied the sheriff’s office before Charley Mansell was 
elected. Of the three, the first had not collected taxes with 
proper vigor; the second was so steadily drunk that 
aggrieved farmers had to take the law in their own hands 
regarding horse-thieves ; the third was, while a terrible man 
on the chase or in a fight, so good-natured and lazy at other 
times, that the county came to be overrun with rascals. 
But Charley Mansell fulfilled every duty of his ofiice with 
promptness and thoroughness. He was not very well known, 
to be sure, but neither was any one else among the four or 
five thousand inhabitants of the new county. He had 
arrived about a year before election-day, and established 
himself as repairer of clocks and watches — an occupation 
which was so unprofitable at Bunkerville, the county town, 
that Charley had an immense amount of leisure time at his 
disposal. He never hung about the stores or liquor-shop 
after dark ; he never told doubtful stories, or displayed 
unusual ability with cards ; neither did he, on the other 
hand, identify himself with either of the Bunkerville churches, 
and yet every one liked him. Perhaps it was because, although 
short, he was straight and plump, whereas the other inhab- 
itants were thin and bent from many discouraging tussles 
with ague ; perhaps it was because he was always the first 
to see the actual merits and demerits of any subject of con- 


92 


OH, IF I WERE SHERIFF !” 


versation ; perhaps it was because he was more eloquent in 
defense of what he believed to be right than the village 
pastors were in defense of the holy truths to which they 
were committed ; perhaps it was because he argued Squire 
Backett out of foreclosing a mortgage on the Widow Worth 
when every one else feared to approach the squire on the 
subject ; but, no matter what the reason was, Charley Man- 
sell became every one’s favorite, and gave no one an excuse 
to call him enemy. He took no interest in politics, but one 
day when a brutal ruffian, who had assaulted a lame native, 
escaped because the easy-going sheriff was too slow in pur- 
suing, Charley was heard to exclaim, “ Oh, if I were 
sheriff!” The man who heard him was both impression- 
able and practical. He said that Charley’s face, when he 
made that remark, looked like Christ’s might have looked 
when he was angry, but the hearer also remembered that the 
sheriff'-incumbent’s term of office had nearly expired, and he 
quietly gathered a few leading spirits of each political party, 
with the result that Charley was nominated and elected on 
a “ fusion” ticket. When elected, Charley properly declined, 
on the ground that he could not file security bonds ; but, 
within half an hour of the time the county clerk received 
the letter of declination, at least a dozen of the most solid 
citizens of the county waited upon the sheriff-elect and 
volunteered to go upon his bond, so Charley became sheriff 
in spite of himself. 

And he acquitted himself nobly. He arrested a murderer 
the very day after his sureties were accepted, and although 
Charley was by far the smaller and paler of the two, the 
murderer submitted tamely, and dared not look into Char- 
ley’s eye. Instead of scolding the delinquent tax-payers, 
the new sheriff sympathized with them, and the county 
treasury filled rapidly. The self-appointed “regulators” 
caught a horse-thief a week or two after Charley’s install- 
ment into office, and were about to quietly hang him, after 
the time-honored custom of Western regulators, when Char- 
ley dashed into the crowd, pointed his pistol at the head of 


CIVILIZATION MOVES IN QUEEE CONVEYANCES. 


93 


Deacon Bent, the leader of the enraged citizens, remarked 
that all sorts of murder were contrary to the law he had 
sworn to maintain, and then led the thief off to jail. The 
regulators were speechless with indignation for the space of 
five minutes — then they hurried to the jail ; and when 
Charley Mansell, with pale face but set teeth, again pre- 
sented his pistol, they astonished him with three roaring 
cheers, after which each man congratulated him on his 
courage. 

In short. Bunker ville became a quiet place. The new 
sheriff even went so far as to arrest the disturbers of camp- 
meetings ; yet the village boys indorsed him heartily, and 
would, at his command, go to jail in squads of half a dozen 
with no escort but the sheriff himself. Had it not been that 
Charley occasionally went to prayer-meetings and church, 
not a rowdy at Bunkerville could have found any fault with 
him. 

But not even in an out-of-the-way, malarious Missouri 
village, could a model sheriff be for ever the topic of conver- 
sation. Civilization moved forward in that part of the 
world in very queer conveyances sometimes, and with con- 
siderable friction. Gamblers, murderers, horse -thieves, 
counterfeiters, and all sorts of swindlers, were numerous in 
lauds so near the border, and Bunkerville was not neglected 
by them. Neither greenbacks nor national bank-notes were 
known at that time, and home productions, in the financial 
direction, being very unpopular, there was a decided prefer- 
ence exhibited for the notes of Eastern banks. And no 
sooner would the issues of any particular bank grow very 
popular in the neighborhood of Bunkerville than merchants 
began to carefully examine every note bearing the name of 
said bank, lest haply some counterfeiter had endeavored to 
assist in supplying the demand. At one particular time the 
suspicions had numerous and well-founded grounds ; where 
they came from nobody knew, but the county was full of 
them, and full, too, of wretched people who held the doubtful 
notes. It was the usual habit of the Bunkerville merchants 


94 


EEGULATOES ASSIST THE SHEEIEE. 


<( 


to put the occasional counterfeits which they received into 
the drawer with their good notes, and pass them when un- 
conscious of the fact ; but at the time referred to the bad 
notes were all on the same bank, and it was not easy work 
to persuade the natives to accept even the genuine issues. 
The merchants sent for the sheriff, and the sheriff questioned 
hostlers, liquor-sellers, ferry-owners, tollgate-keepers, and 
other people in the habit of receiving money ; but the ques- 
tions were to no effect. These people had all suffered, 
but at the hands of respectable citizens, and no worse by 
one than by another. 

Suddenly the sheriff seemed to get some trace of the 
counterfeiters. An old negro, who saw money so seldom 
that he accurately remembered the history of all the cur- 
rency in his possession, had received a bad note from an 
emigrant in payment for some hams. A fortnight later, he 
sold some feathers to a different emigrant, and got a note 
which neither the store-keeper or liquor-seller would accept ; 
the negro was sure the wagon and horses of the second emi- 
grant were the same as those of the first. Then the sheriff 
mounted his horse and gave chase. He needed only to ask the 
natives along the road leading out of Bunkerville to show 
him any money they had received of late, to learn what 
route the wagon had taken on its second trip. 

About this time the natives of Bunkerville began to 
wonder whether the young sheriff was not more brave than 
prudent. He had started without associates (for he had 
never appointed a deputy); he might have a long chase, 
and into counties where he was unknown, and might be 
dangerously delayed. The final decision — or the only one 
of any consequence — was made by four of the “ regulators,” 
who decided to mount and hurry after the sheriff and volun- 
teer their aid. By taking turns in riding ahead of their own 
party, these volunteers learned, at the end of the first day, 
that Charley could not be more than ten miles in advance. 
They determined, therefore, to push on during the night, so 
long as they could be sure they were on the right track. 


TO THE sheriff’s RESCUE. 


95 


An hour niore of riding brouglit them to a cabin where 
they received startling intelligence. An emigrant wagon, 
drawn by very good horses, had driven by at a troi which 
was a gait previously unheard of in the case of emigrant 
horses ; then a young man on horseback had passed at a 
lively gallop ; a few moments later a shot had been heard in 
the direction of the road the wagon had taken. Why hadn’t 
the owner of the house hurried up the road to see what was 
the matter ? — Because he minded his own business and staid 
in the house when he heard shooting, he said. 

“ Come on, boys ! ” shouted Bill Braymer, giving his 
panting horse a touch with his raw-hide whip ; “ j)erhaps 
the sheriff’s needin’ help this minute. An’ there’s generally 
rewards when counterfeiters are captured — mebbe sheriff ’ll 
give us a share.” 

The whole quartet galloped rapidly off. It was growing 
dark, but there was no danger of losing a road which was the 
only one in that part of the country. As they approached a 
clearing a short distance in front of them, they saw a dark 
mass in the centre of the road, its outlines indicating an em- 
igrant wagon of the usual t3rpe. 

“ There they are ! ” shouted Bill Braymer ; “ but where’s 
sheriff? Good Lord! The shot must have hit him!'" 

‘‘Beckon it did,” said Pete Williamson, thrusting his 
head forward ; “ there’s some kind of an animal hid behind 
that wagon, an’ it don’t enjoy bein’ led along, for it’s kickin’ 
mighty lively — shouldn’t wonder if ’twas Mansell’s own 
pony.” 

“ Hoss-thieves too, then ? ” inquired Braymer ; “ then 
mebbe there’ll be two rewards ! ” 

“ Yes,” said Williamson’s younger brother, “ an’ mebbe 
we’re leavin’ poor Charley a-dyin’ along behind us in the 
bushes somewhere. Who’ll go back an’ help hunt for 
him!” 

The quartet unconsciously slackened speed, and the 
members thereof gazed rather sheepishly at each other 
through the gathering twilight. At length the younger 


96 


MAKING HIS WILL ON A GALLOP. 


Williamson abruptly turned, dismounted, and walked slowly 
backward, peering in the bushes, and examining all indica- 
tions in the road. The other three resumed their rapid 
gallop, Pete Williamson remarking : 

“ That boy alwus loos the saint of the family — look out 
for long shot, boys ! — and if there’s any money in this job, 
he’s to have a fair share of — that is sheriff’s horse, sure as 
shootin’ — he shall have half of what I make out of it. 
How’ll we take ’em, boys ? — Bill right, Sam left, and me the 
rear ? If I should get plugged, an’ there’s any money for 
the crowd, I’ll count on you two to see that brother Jim 
gets my share — he’s got more the mother in him than all 
four of us other brothers, and — why don’t they shoot, do 
you s’pose ?” 

“ P’r’aps ther ain’t nobody but the driver, an’ he’s got 
his hands full, makin’ them bosses travel along that lively,” 
suggested Bill Braymer. “ Or mebbe he h’ain’t got time to 
load. Like enough he’s captured the sheriff, an’ is a-takin 
him off. We’ve got to be keerful how we shoot.” 

The men gained steadily on the v/agon, and finally Bill 
Braymer felt sure enough to shout • 

“ Halt, or we’ll fire!” 

The only response was a sudden flash at the rear of the 
wagon ; at the same instant the challenger’s horse fell dead. 
Hang keerfulness about firin’!” exclaimed Braymer. 
a-goin’ to blaze away.” 

Another shot came from the wagon, and Williamson’s 
horse uttered a genuine cry of anguish and stumbled. The 
indignant rider hastily dismounted, and exclaimed : 

“ It’s mighty kind of ’em not to shoot us, but they know 
how to get away all the same.” 

“ They know too much about shootin’ for me to foller ’em 
any more,” remarked the third man, running rapidly out of 
the road and in the shadow caused by a tree. 

“ They can’t keep up that gait for ever,” said Bill Bray- 
mer. “ I’m goin’ to foller ’em on foot, if it takes all night; I’ll 
get even with em for that boss they’ve done me out of ” 


JIM Williamson’s discoveky. 


97 


I’m with you, Bill,” remarked Pete Williamson, “ an’ 
mebbe we can snatch their bosses, just to show ’em how it 
feels.” 

The third man lifted up his voice. “I ’Ilow I’ve had 
enough of this here kind of thing,” said he, “ an’ I’ll get 
back to the settlement while there’s anything for me to get 
there on. I reckon you’ll make a haul, but — I don’t care — 
I’d rather be poor than spend a counterfeiter’s money.” 

And off he rode, just as the younger Williamson, with 
refreshed horse, dashed up, exclaiming : 

“ No signs of him back yonder, but there’s blood-tracks 
beginnin’ in the middle of the road, an’ loanin’ along this 
way. Come on ! ” 

And away he galloped, while his brother remarked to 
his companion : 

“ Ef he should have luck, an’ get the reward, you be sure 
to tell him all the good things I’ve said about him, won’t 
you?” 

Jim Williamson rode rapidly in the direction of the wagon 
until, finding himself alone, and remembering what had 
befallen his companions, he dismounted, tied his horse to a 
tree, and pursued rapidly on foot. He soon saw the wagon 
looming up in front of him again, and was puzzled to know 
how to reach it and learn the truth, when the wagon turned 
abruptly off the road, and apparently into the forest. 

Following as closely as he could under cover of the tim- 
ber, he found that, after picking its way among the trees for 
a mile, it stopped before a small log cabin, of whose exist- 
ence Jim had never known before. 

There were some groans plainly audible as Jim saw one 
man get out of the wagon and half carry and half drag 
another man into the hut. A moment later, and a streak of 
light appeared under the door of the hut, and there seemed 
to be no windows in the structure ; if there were, they were 
covered. 

Jim remained behind a sheltering tree for what seemed 
two houis, and then stealthily approached the wagon. No 


98 


THE SHERIFF AND “ HER ” FATHER. 


one was in it. Then lie removed his boots and stole on tip- 
toe to the hut. At first he could find no chink or crevice 
fhrough which to look, but finally, on one side of the log 
chimney, he spied a ray of light. Approaching the hole and 
applying his eye to it, Jim beheld a picture that startled 
him into utter dumbness. 

On the floor of the hut, which was entirely bare, lay a 
middle-aged man, with one arm bandaged and bleeding. 
Seated on the floor, holding the head of the wounded man, 
and raining kisses upon it, sat Bunker County’s sheriff ! 

Then Jim heard some conversation which did not in the 
least allay his astonishment. 

“ Don’t cry, daughter,” said the wounded man, faintly, 
“ I deserve to be shot by you — I haven’t wronged any one 
else half so much as I have you.” 

Again the wounded man received a shower of kisses, and 
hot tears fell rapidly upon his face. 

“ Arrest me — take me back — send me to State’s prison,” 
continued the man ; “ nobody has so good a right. Then I’ll 
feel as if your mother was honestly avenged. I’ll feel better 
if you’ll promise to do it.” 

“ Father, dear,” said the sheriff, “I might have suspected 
it was you — oh ! if I had have done ! But I thought — I 
hoped I had got away from the reach of the cursed business 
for ever. I’ve endured everything— I’ve nearly died of lone- 
liness, to avoid it, and then to think that I should have hurt 
my own father.” 

“ You’re your mother’s own daughter, Nellie,” said the 
counterfeiter ; “ it takes all the pain away to know that I 
haven’t ruined you — that some member of my wretched 
family is honest. I’d be happy in a prisoner’s box if I 
could look at you and feel that you put me there.” 

“ You sha’n’t be made happy in that way,” said the 
sheriff. I’ve got you again, and I’m going to keep you to 
myself. I’ll nurse you here — you say that nobody ever 
found this hut but — ^but the gang, and when you’re better 
the wagon shall take us both to some place where we can live 


THE SHERIFF HISSES THE PRISONER. 


99 


or starve together. The county can get another sheriff eas^ 
enough.” 

“ And they’ll suspect you of being in league with counter- 
feiters,” said the father. 

“ They may suspect me of anything they like ! ” exclaimed 
the sheriff, “ so you love me and be — ^be your own best self 
and my good father. But this bare hut — not a comfort that 
you need — no food — nothing — oh, if there was only some 
one who had a heart, and could help us ! ” 

“ There is ! ” whispered Jim Williamson, with all his 
might. Both occupants started, and the wounded man’s 
eyes glared like a wolf’s. 

“ Don’t be frightened,” whispered Jim ; “ I’m yours, 
body and soul — the devil himself would be, if he’d been 
standin’ at this hole the last five minutes. I’m Jim William- 
son. Let me help you miss — sheriff.” 

The sheriff blew out the light, opened the door, called 
softly to Jim, led him into the hut, closed the door, relighted 
the candle and — ^blushed.. Jim looked at the sheriff out of 
the top of his eyes, and then blushed himself — then he 
looked at the wounded man. There was for a moment an 
awkward silence, which Jim broke by clearing his throat 
violently, after which he said : 

“ Now, both of you make your minds easy. Nobody’ll 
never find you here — I’ve hunted through all these woods, 
but never saw this cabin before. Arm broke ?” 

“ No,” said the counterfeiter, “ but — but it runs in the 
•family to shoot ugly.” 

Again the sheriff kissed the man repeatedly. 

“ Then you can move in two or three days, said Jim, “ if 
you’re taken care of rightly. Nobody’ll suspect anything 
wrong about the sheriff, ef he don’t turn up again right away. 
I’ll go back to town, throw everybody off the track, and 
bring out a few things to make you comfortable.” 

Jim looked at the sheriff again, blushed again, and 
started for the door. The wounded man sprang to his feet, 
and hoarsely whispered : 


KISSES THE prisoner’s HAND. 


'^100 

^ “ Swear — ask God to send you to liell if you play false — 
swear by everything you love and respect and hope for, that 
you won’t let my daughter be disgraced because she hap- 
pened to have a rascal for her father ! ” 

Jim hesitated for a moment ; then he seized the sheriff’s 
hand. 

‘‘ I ain’t used to swearin’ except on somethin’ I can see,” 
said he, “ an’ the bizness is only done in one way,” with this 
he kissed the little hand in his own, and dashed out of the 
cabin with a very red face. 

Within ten minutes Jim met his brother and Braymer. 

‘‘No use, boys,” said he, “might as well go back. There 
ain’t no fears but what the sheriff ’ll be smart enough to do 
’em yet, if he’s alive, an’ if he’s dead we can’t help him 
any.” 

“ If he’s dead,” remarked Bill Braymer, “ an’ there’s any 
pay due him, I hope part of it ’ll come for these horses. 
Mine’s dead, an’ Pete’s might as well be. 

“ Well,” said Jim, “ I’ll go on to town. I want to be out 
early in the mornin’ an’ see ef I can’t get a deer, an’ it’s time 
M Ava's in bed.” And Jim galloped off. 

The horse and man which might have been seen thread- 
ing the Avoods at early daybreak on the following morning, 
might h^Lve set for a picture of one of Sherman’s bummers. 
Fora month afterward Jim’s mother bemoaned the unac- 
countable absence of a tin pail, a meal-bag, tAvo or three 
blankets, her only pair of scissors, and sundry other useful 
articles, Avhile her sorrow was increased by the fact that she 
had to replenish her household stores sooner than she had 
expected. 

The sheriff examined so eagerly the articles which Jim 
deposited in rapid succession on the cabin-floor, that Jim 
had nothing to do but look at the sheriff, Avhich he did 
industriously, though not exactly to his heart’s content. At 
last the sheriff looked up, and Jim saAv two eyes full of tears, 
and a pair of lips Avhich parted and trembled in a manner 
very unbecoming in a sheriff. 


THE sheriff’s RETURN. 


101 


Don’t, please,” said Jim, appealingly. “ I wish I could 
have done better for you, but somehow I couldn’t think of 
nothin’ in the house that was fit for a woman, except the 
scissors.” 

“ Don’t think about me at all,” said the sheriff, quickly. 

“ I care for nothing for myself. Forget that I’m alive.” 

“ I — I can’t,” stammered Jim, looking as guilty as forty 
counterfeiters rolled into one. The sheriff turned away 
quickly, while the father called Jim to his side. 

“ Young man,” said he, “ you’ve been as good as an angel 
could have been, but if you suspect her a minute of being 
my accomplice, may heaven blast you ! I taught her engrav- 
ing, villain that I was, but when she found out what the 
work really was, I thought she’d have died. She begged 
and begged that I’d give the business up, and I promised 
and promised, but it isn’t easy to get out of a crowd of your 
own kind, particularly when you’re not so much of a man as 
you should be. At last she got sick of w^aiting, and ran 
away — then I grew desperate and worse than ever. I’ve 
been searching everywhere for her ; you don’t suppose 
a smart — smart counterfeiter has to get rid of his money iriV- 
the way I’ve been doing, do you ? I traced her to this part 
of the State, and I’ve been going over the roads again and 
again trying to find her ; but I never saw her until she ]3ut . 
this hole through my arm last night.” 

“I hadn’t any idea who you were,” interrupted the 
sheriff, with a face so full of mingled indignation, pain and 
tenderness, that Jim couldn’t for the life of him take his 
eyes from it. 

“ Don’t let any one suspect her, young man,” continued 
the father. “ I’ll stay within reach — deliver me up, if it 
should be necessary to clear her'' 

“ Trust to me,” said Jim. ‘‘I know a man when I see 
him, even if he is a woman.” 

Two days later the sheriff rode into town, leading behind 
him the counterfeiter’s horses, with the wagon and its eon- 
tnits, with thousands of dollars in counterfeit money. The 


102 


DECLINES TO EUN FOR CONGRESS. 


counterfeiter liad escaped, lie said, and lie had wounded 
him. 

Bunkerville ran wild with enthusiasm, and when the 
sheriff insisted upon paying out of his own pocket the value 
of Braymer’s and Williamson’s horses, men of all parties 
agreed that Charley Mansell should be run for Congress on 
an independent ticket. 

But the sheriff declined the honor, and, declaring that he 
had heard of the serious illness of his father, insisted upon 
resigning and leaving the country. Like an affectionate son, 
he purchased some dress-goods, which he said might please 
his mother, and then he departed, leaving the whole town 
in sorrow. 

There was one man at Bunkerville who did not suffer so 
severely as he might have done by the sheriff’s departure, 
had not his mind been full of strange thoughts. Pete 
Williamson began to regard his brother with suspicion, and 
there seemed some ground for his feeling. Jim was un- 
naturally quiet and abstracted ; he had been a great deal 
with the sheriff before that official’s departure, and yet did 
not seem to be on as free and pleasant terms with him as 
before. So Pete slowly gathered a conviction that the 
sheriff was on the track of a large reward from the bank 
injured by the counterfeiter ; that Jim was to have a share 
for his services on the eventful night ; that there was some 
disagreement between them on the subject, and that Jim 
was trying the unbrotherly trick of keeping his luck a secret 
from the brother who had resolved to fraternally share any- 
thing he might have obtained by the chase. Finally, when 
Pete charged his brother with the unkindness alluded to, 
and Jim looked dreadfully confused, Pete’s suspicions were 
fully confirmed. 

The next morning Jim and his horse were absent, ascer- 
taining which fact, the irate Peter started in pursuit. For 
several days he traced his brother, and finally learned that 
he was at a hotel on the Iowa border. The landlord said 
that he couldn’t be seen ; he, and a handsome young fellow. 


THE SORT OP DEER HE GOT. 


103 


with a big trnnlc, and a tall, thin man, and ex-Judgo Bates, 
were busy together, and had left word they weren’t to be 
disturbed for a couple of hours on any account. Could Pete 
hang about the door of the room, so as to see him as soon 
as possible ? — he was his brother. Well, yes ; the landlord 
thought there wouldn’t be any harm in that. 

The unscrupulous Peter put his eye to the keyhole ; lie 
saw the sheriff daintily dressed, and as pretty a lady as ever 
was, in spite of her short hair ; he heard the judge say : 

“ By virtue of the authority in me vested by the State of 
Iowa, I pronounce you man and wife and then, with vacant 
countenance, he sneaked slowly away, murmuring : 

“ That's the sort of reward he got, is it? And,” con- 
tinued Pete, after a moment, which was apparently one of 
special inspiration, ‘‘ I’ll bet that’s the kind of deer he said 
he was goin’ fur on the morning after the chase.” 



MAJOE MAETT’S FEIEND. 


E ast patten was one of the quietest places in. the world. 

The indisposition of a family horse or cow was cause 
for animated general conversation, and the displaying of a 
new poster or prospectus on the post-office door was the 
signal for a spirited gathering of citizens. 

Why, therefore. Major Martt had spent tne whole of 
three successive leaves-of-absence at East Patten, where he 
hadn’t a relative, and where no other soldier lived, no one 
could imagine. Even professional newsmakers never as- 
signed any reason for it, for although their vigorous and 
experienced imaginations were fully capable of forming some 
plausible theory on the subject of the major’s fondness for 
East Patten, they shrank from making public the results of 
any such labors. 

It was perfectly safe to circulate some purely original 
story about any ordinary citizen, but there was no knowing 
how a military man might treat such a matter when it 
reached his ears, as it was morally sure to do. 

Live military men had not been seen in East Patten 
since the Ee volutionary War, three-quarters of a century 
before the villagers first saw Major Martt ; and such 
soldiers as had been revealed to East Patten through the 
medium of print were as dangerously touchy as the hair- 
triggers of their favorite weapons. 

So East Patten let the major’s private affairs alone, and 
was really glad to see the major in person. There was a 
scarcity of men at East Patten — of interesting men, at least, 


THE MAJOH NOT A MARRYING MAN. 


105 


for the undoubted sanctity of the old men lent no special 
graces to their features or manners ; while the young men 
were merely the residuum of an active emigration which had 
for some years been setting westward from East Patten. 

'Wdien, therefore, the tall, straight broad-shouldered, 
clear-eyed, much- whiskered major appeared on the street, 
looking (as he always did) as if he had just been shaved, 
brushed and polished, the sight was an extremely pleasing 
one, except to certain young men who feared for the validity 
of their titles to their respective sweethearts should the 
major chance to be affectionate. 

But the major gave no cause for complaint. When he 
first came to the village he bought Bose Cottage, opposite 
the splendid Wittleday property, apd he spent most of his 
time (his leave-of-absence always occurring in the Summer 
season) in liis garden, trimming his shrubs, nursing his 
flowering-plants, growing magnificent roses, and in all ways 
acting utterly unlike a man of blood. Occasionally he 
played a game of chess with Parson Fisher, the jolly ex- 
clergyman, or smoked a pipe with the sadler-postmaster ; lie 
attended all the East Patten tea-parties, too, but he made 
himself so uniformly agreeable to all the ladies that 
the mothers in Israel agreed with many sighs, that the 
major was not a marrying man. 

It may easily be imagined, then, that when one Summer 
the major reappeared at East Patten with a brother officer 
who was young and reasonably good-looking, the major’s 
popularity did not diminish. 

The young man was introduced as Lieutenant Doyson, 
who had once saved the major’s life by a lucky shot, as that 
chieftain, with empty pistols, was trying lo escape from a 
well-mounted Indian ; and all the young ladies in town de- 
clared they knew the lieutenant must have done something 
wonderful, he was so splendid. 

But, with that fickleness which seems in some way com- 
municable from wicked cities to virtuous villages. East 
Patten suddenly ceased to exhibit unusual interest in the 


106 


THE WIDOW LAYS ASIDE HER WEEDS. 


pair of warriors, for a new excitement had convulsed the 
village mind to its very centre. 

It was whispered that Mrs. Wittleday, the sole and 
widowed owner of the great Wittleday property, had 
wearied of the mourning she wore for the husband she had 
buried two years previously, and that she would soon 
publicly announce the fact by laying aside her weeds and 
giving a great entertainment, to which every one was to be 
invited. 

There was considerable high-toned deprecation of so 
early a cessation of Mrs. Wittleday’s sorrowing, she being 
still young and handsome, and there was some fault found 
on the economic ground that the widow couldn’t yet have 
half worn out her mourning-garments ; but as to the pro- 
priety of her giving an entertainment, the voices of East 
Patten were as one in the affirmative. 

Such of the villagers as had chanced to sit at meat with 
the late Scott Wittleday, had reported that dishes with un- 
remembered foreign names were as plenty as were the 
plainer viands on the tables of the old inhabitants; such 
East Pattenites as had not been entertained at the Wittle- 
day board rejoiced in a prospect of believing by sight as 
well as by faith. 

The report proved to have unusually good foundation. 
Within a fortnight each respectable househoulder received 
a note intimating that Mrs. Wittleday would be pleased 
to see self and family on the evening of the following 
Thursday. 

The time was short, and the resources of the single store 
at East Patten were limited, but the natives did their best, 
and the eventful evening brought to Mrs. Wittleday’s hand- 
some parlors a few gentlemen and ladies, and a large number 
of good people, who, with all the heroism of a forlorn hope, 
were doing their best to appear at ease and happy. 

The major and lieutenant were there, of course, and both 
in uniform, by special request of the hostess. The major, 
who had met Mrs. Wittleday in city society before her 


THE MAJOR ADVISES THE SUBALTERN. 


107 


husband’s death, and who had maintained a bowing-acquaint- 
ance with her during her widowhood, gravely presented the 
lieutenant to Mrs. Wittleday, made a gallant speech about 
the debt society owed to her for again condescending to 
smile upon it, and then presented his respects to the nearest 
of the several groups of ladies who were gazing invitingly 
at him. 

Then he summoned the lieutenant (whose reluctance to 
leave Mrs. Wittleday’s side was rendered no less by a bright 
smile which that lady gave him as he departed), and made 
him acquainted with ladies of all ages, and of greatly vary- 
ing personal appearance. The young warrior went through 
the ordeal with only tolerable composure, and improved his 
first opportunity to escape and regain the society of the 
hostess. Two or three moments later, just as Mrs. Wittle- 
day turned aside to speak to stately old Judge Bray, the 
lieutenant found himself being led rapidly toward the 
veranda. The company had not yet found its way out of the 
parlors to any extent, so the major locked the lieutenant’s 
arm in his own, commenced a gentle promenade, and re- 
marked : 

“ Fred, my boy, you’re making an ass of yourself.” 

“ Oh, nonsense, major,” answered the young man, with 
considerable impatience. “ I don’t want to know all these 
queer, old-fashioned people ; they’re worse than a lot of 
plebes at West Point.” 

‘‘ I don’t mean that, Fred, though, if you don’t want to 
make talk, you must make yourself agreeable. But you’re 
too attentive to Mrs. Wittleday.” 

“ By George,” responded the lieutenant, eagerly, “ how 
can I help it ? She’s divine ! ” 

“A great many others think so, too, Fred— I do myself 
— but they don’t make it so plagued evident on short ac- 
quaintance. Behave yourself, now — your eyesight is good — 
sit down and play the agreeable to some old lady, and look 
at Mrs. Wittleday across the room, as often as you like.” 

The lieutenant was young ; his face was not under good 


108 


“steady, feed — steady!” 


control, and he had no whiskers, and very little mustache to 
hide it, so, although he obeyed the order of his superior, it 
was with a visage so mournful that the major imagined, 
when once or twice he caught Mrs. Wittleday’s eye, that 
that handsome lady was suffering from restrained laughter. 

Humorous as the affair had seemed to the major before, 
he could not endure to have his preserver’s sorrow the cause 
of merriment in any one else ; so, deputing Parson Fisher to 
make their excuse to the hostess when it became possible 
to penetrate the crowd which had slowly surrounded her, the 
major took his friend’s arm and returned to the cottage. 

“ Major 1 ” exclaimed the subaltern, “ I — I haK wish I’d 
let that Indian catch you ; then you wouldn’t have spoiled 
the pleasantest evening I ever had — ever began to have, I 
should say.” 

“ You wouldn’t have had an evening at East Patten then, 
Fred,” said the major, with a laugh, as he passed the cigars, 
and lit one himself. “ Seriously, my boy, you must be more 
careful. You came here to spend a pleasant three months 
with me, and the first time you’re in society you act, to a 
lady you never saw before, too, in such a way, that if it had 
been any one but a lady of experience, she would have 
imagined you in love with her.” 

“ I am in love with her,” declared the young man, with a 
look which was intended to be defiant, but which was 
noticeably shamedfaced. “ I’m going to tell her so, too — 
that is, I’m going to write her about it.” 

“Steady, Fred — steady!” urged the major, kindly. 
“ She’d be more provoked than pleased. Don’t you sup- 
pose fifty men have worshiped her at first sight? They 
have, and she knows it, too — ^but it hasn’t troubled her mind 
at all : handsome women know they turn men’s heads in 
that way, and they generally respect the men who are sensi- 
ble enough to hold their tongues about it, at least until 
there’s acquaintance enough between them to justify a little 
confidence.” 

“ Major,” said poor Fred, very meekly, almost piteouly. 


couldn’t stand still and be shot at. 109 

don’t — don’t you suppose I covM make her care something 
for me?” 

The major looked thoughtfully, and then tenderly, at the 
cigar he held between his fingers. Finally he said, very 
gently : 

“ My dear boy, perhaps you could. Would it be fair, 
though? Love in earnest means marriage. Would you tor- 
ment a poor woman, who’s lost one husband, into wondering 
three-quarters of the time whether the scalp of another isn’t 
in the hands of some villainous Apache ? ” 

The unhappy lieutenant hid his face in heiavy clouds of 
tobacco smoke. 

“ Well,” said he, springing to his feet, and pacing the 
floor like a caged animal, “ I’ll tell you what I’ll do ; I’ll 
write her, and throw my heart at her feet. Of course she 
won’t care. It’s just as you say. Why should she ? But 
I’ll do it, and then I’ll go back to the regiment. I hate to 
spoil your fun, major, if it’s any fun to you to have such a 
fool in your quarters ; but the fact is, the enemy’s too much 
for me. I wouldn’t feel worse if I was facing a division. I’ll 
write her to morrow. I’d rather be refused by her than 
loved by any other woman.” 

“ Put it off a fortnight, Fred,” suggested the major ; “ it’s 
the polite thing to call within a week after this party ; you’ll 
have a chance then to become better acquainted with her. 
She’s delightful company, I’m told. Perhaps you’ll make up 
your mind it’s better to enjoy her society, during our leave, 
than to throw away everything in a forlorn hope. Wait a 
fortnight, that’s a sensible youth.” 

“I can’t, major!” cried the excited boy. “Hang it! 
you’re an old soldier — don’t you know how infernally un- 
comfortable it is to stand still and be shot at ? ” 

“I do, my boy,” said the major, with considerable 
emphasis, and a far-away look at nothing in particular. 

“ Well, that’ll be my fix as long as I stay here and keep 
quiet,” replied the lieutenant. 

“ Wait a week, then,” persisted the major. “ You don’t 


110 


THE MAJOB’S COWABDICE. 


want to be * guilty of conduct unbecoming an officer and a 
gentleman/ eb ? Don’t spoil her first remembrances of the 
first freedom she’s known for a couple of years.” 

“ Well, call it a week, then,” moodily replied the love-sick 
brave, lighting a candle, and moving toward his room. “ I 
suppose it will take me a week, anyway, to make up a letter 
fit to send to such an angel.” 

The major sighed, put on an easy coat and slippers, and 
stepped into his garden. 

“ Poor Fred ! ” he muttered to himself, as he paced the 
walk in front of the piazza; “can’t wait a fortnight, eh? 
Wonder what he would say if he knew I’d been waiting for 
seven or eight years — if he knew I fell in love with her as 
easily as he did, and that I’ve never recovered myself? 
Wonder what he’d do if some one were to marry her almost 
before his very eyes, as poor Wittleday did while I was 
longing for her acquaintance? Wonder what sort of fool 
he’d call me if he knew that I came to East Patten, time 
after time, just for a chance of looking at her — that I bought 
Rose Cottage merely to be near her — that I’d kept it all to 
myself, and for a couple of years had felt younger at the 
thought that I might, perchance, win her after all ? Poor 
Fred ! And yet, why shouldn’t she marry him ? — women 
have done stranger things; and he’s a great deal more 
attractive-looking than an old campaigner like myself. Well, 
God bless ’em both, and have mercy on an old coward ! ” 

The major looked toward the Wittleday mansion. The 
door was open ; the last guests were evidently departing, 
and their beautiful entertainer was standing in the doorway, 
a flood of light throwing into perfect relief her graceful and 
tastefully dressed figure. She said something laughingly to 
the departing guests ; it seemed exquisite music to the 
major. Then the door closed, and the major, with a groan, 
retired within his own door, and sorrowfully consumed many 
cigars. 

The week that followed was a very dismal one to the 
major. He petted his garden as usual, and whistled softly 


“A FELLOW FEELING MAKES US WONDEEOUS KIND.” Ill 


to himself, as was his constant habit, but he insanely 
pinched tho buds off the flowering plants, and his whistling 
— sometimes plaintive, sometimes hopeless, sometimes 
wrathful, sometimes vindictive in expression — was restricted 
to the execution of dead-marches alone. He jeopardized 
his queen so often at chess that Parson Fisher deemed it 
only honorable to call the major’s attention to his misplays, 
and to allow him to correct them. 

The saddler post-master noticed that the major — usually 
a most accomplished smoker — ^now consumed a great many, 
matches in relighting each pipe that he filled. Only once 
during the week did he chance to meet Mrs. Wittleday, and 
then the look which accompanied his bow and raised hat 
was so solemn, that his fair neighbor was unusually sober 
herself for a few moments, while she wondered whether she 
could in any way have given the major offense. 

As for the lieutenant, he sat at the major’s desk for 
many sorrowful hours each day, the general result being a 
large number of closely written and finely torn scraps in the 
waste-basket. Then coatless, collarless, with open vest and 
hair disarranged in the manner traditional among love-sick 
youths, he would pour mournful airs from a flute. 

The major complained — rather frequently for a man who 
had spent years on the Plains — of drafts from the front 
windows, which windows he finally kept closed most of the 
time, thus saving Mrs. Wittleday the annoyance which would 
certainly have resulted from the noise made by the earnest 
but unskilled amateur. 

For the major himself, however, neither windows nor 
doors could afford relief ; and when, one day, the sergeant 
accidentally overturned a heavy table, which fell upon the 
flute and crushed it, the major enjoyed the only happy mo- 
ments that were his during the week. 

The week drew very near its close. The major had, with 
a heavy but desperate heart, told stories, sung songs, brought 
up tactical points for discussion — he even waxed enthusias- 
tic in favor of a run through Europe, he, of course, to bear 


112 


FEED ASKS A FAYOR. 


all tlie expenses; but the subaltern remained faithful and 
obdurate. 

Finally, the morning of the last day arrived, and the 
lieutenant, to the major’s surprise and delight, appeared at 
the table with a very resigned air. 

“ Major,” said he, “ I wouldn’t mention it under any 
other circumstances, but — I saved your life once ? ” 

“You did, my boy. God bless you!” responded the 
major, promptly. 

“ Well, now I want to ask a favor on the strength of that 
act. I’ll never ask another. It’s no use for me to try to 
write to her — the harder I try the more contemptible my 
words appear. Now, what I ask, is this : you write me a 
rough draft of what’s fit to send to such an incomparable 
being, and I’ll copy it and send it over. I don’t expect any 
answer — all I want to do is to throw myself away on her, 
but I want to do it handsomely, and — hang it, I don’t know 
how. Write just as if you were doing it for yourself. Will 
you do it ? ” 

The major tried to wash his heart out of his throat with 
a sip of coffee, and succeeded but partially ; yet the appeal- 
ing look of his favorite, added to the unconscious pathos of 
his tone, restored to him his self-command, and he replied : 

“ I’ll do it, Fred, right away.” 

“ Don’t spoil your breakfast for it ; any time this morning 
will do,” said .the lieutenant, as the major arose from the 
table. But the veteran needed an excuse for leaving his 
breakfast untouched, and he rather abruptly stepped upon 
the piazza and indulged in a thoughtful promenade. 

“Write just as if you were doing it for yourself.” 

The young man’s words rang constantly in his ears, and 
before the major had thought many moments, he determined 
to do exactly what he was asked to do. 

This silly performance of the lieutenant’s would, of 
course, put an end to the acquaintanceship of the major and 
Mrs. Wittleday, unless that lady were most unusually 
gracious. Why should he not say to her, over the subal- 


THE MAJOE WEITES A LOYE LETTEE. 


113 


tern’s name, all that he had for years been hoping for an 
opportunity to say ? No matter that she would not imagine 
who was the real author of the letter — it would still be an 
unspeakable comfort to write the words and know that her 
eyes would read them — that her heart would perhaps — 
probably, in fact — pity the writer. 

The major seated himself, wrote, erased, interlined, re- 
wrote, and finally handed to the lieutenant a sheet of letter- 
paper, of which nearly a page was covered with the major’s 
very characteristic chirography. 

“ By gracious, major ! ” exclaimed the lieutenant, his face 
having lightened perceptibly during the perusal of the 
letter, “ that’s magnificent ! I declare, it puts hope into me ; 
and yet, confound it, it’s plaguy like marching under some 
one else’s colors.” 

“ Never mind, my boy, copy it, sign it, and send it over, 
and don’t hope too much.” 

The romantic young brave copied the letter carefully, 
line for line ; he spoilt several envelopes in addressing one to 
suit him, and then dispatched the missive by the major’s 
servant, laying the rough draft away for future (and proba- 
bly sorrowful) perusal. 

The morning hours lagged dreadfully. Both warriors 
smoked innumerable cigars, but only to find fault with the 
flavor thereof. 

The lieutenant tried to keep his heart up by relating two 
or three stories, at the points of each of which the major 
forced a boisterous laugh, but the mirth upon both sides was 
visibly hollow. Dinner was set at noon, the usual military 
dinner-hour, but little was consumed, except a bottle of 
claret, which the major, who seldom drank, seemed to con- 
sider it advisable to produce. 

The after-dinner cigar lasted only until one o’clock; 
newspapers by the noon-day mail occupied their time for 
but a scant hour more, and an attempted game of cribbage 
was speedily dropped by unspoken but mutual consent. 

Suddenly the garden gate creaked. The lieutenant 


114 


** it’s for the major, sar.” 

sprang to his feet, looked out of the window, and ex- 
claimed : 

‘‘ It’s her darkey — ^he’s got an answer — oh, major ! ” 

“ Steady, boy, steady ! ” said the major, arising hastily 
and laying his hand on the yoimg man’s shoulder, as that 
excited person was hastening to the door., “‘Officer and 
gentleman,’ you know. Let Sam open the door.” 

The bell rang, the door was opened, a word or two 
passed between the two servants, and Mrs. Wittleday’s 
coachman appeared in the dining-room, holding the letter. 
The lieutenant eagerly reached for it, but the sable carrier 
grinned politely, said : 

“ It’s for de major, sar — wuz told to give it right into his 
ban’s, and nobody else,” fulfilled his instructions, and de- 
parted with many bows and smiles, while the two soldiers 
dropped into their respective chairs. 

“ Hurry up, major — do, please,” whispered the lieutenant. 
But the veteran seemed an interminably long time in opening 
the dainty envelope in his hand. Official communications he 
opened with a dexterity suggesting sleight-of-hand, but now 
he took a penknife from his pocket, opened its smallest, 
brightest blade, and carefully cut Mrs. Wittleday’s envelope. 
As he opened the letter his lower jaw fell, and his eyes 
opened wide. He read the letter through, and re-read it, 
his countenance indicating considerable satisfaction, which 
presently was lost in an expression of puzzled wonder. 

“ Fred,” said he to the miserable lieutenant, who started 
to his feet as a prisoner expecting a severe sentence might 
do, “ what in creation did you write Mrs. Wittleday ? ” 

“ Just what you gave me to write,” replied the young 
man, evidently astonished. 

“ Let me see my draft of it,” said the major. 

The lieutenant opened a drawer in the major’s desk, took 
out a sheet of paper, looked at it, and cried : 

“ I sent her your draft ! This is my letter ! ” 

“And she imagined /.wrote it, and has accepted me/'* 
gasped the major. 


you’ll haye to maert her.’ 


115 


The wretched Frederick turned pale, and tottered toward 
a chair. The major went over to him and spoke to him 
sympathizingly, but despite his genial sorrow for the poor 
boy, the major’s heart was so full that he did not dare to 
show his face for a moment ; so he stood behind the lieu- 
tenant, and looked across his own shoulder out of the win- 
dow. 

“Oh, major,” exclaimed Fred, “isn’t it possible that 
you’re mistaken ? ” 

“ Here’s her letter, my boy,” said the major ; “ judge for 
yourseK.” 

The young man took the letter in a mechanical sort of 
way, and read as follows : 

“ July 23d, 185—. 

“ Dear Major — I duly received your note of this morn- 
ing, and you may thank womanly curiosity for my knowing 
from whom the missive (which you omitted to sign) came. 
I was accidentally looking out of my window, and recog- 
nized the messenger. 

“ I have made it an inflexible rule to laugh at declarations 
of ‘ love at first sight,’ but when I remembered how long ago 
it was when first we met, the steadfastness of your regard, 
proved to me by a new fancy (which I pray you not to 
crush) that your astonishing fondness for East Patten was 
partly on my account, forbade my indulging in any lighter 
sentiment than that of honest gratitude. 

“ You may call this evening for your answer, which I 
suppose you, with the ready conceit of your sex and pro- 
fession, will have already anticipated. 

“ Yours, very truly, Helen Wittleday.” 

The lieutenant groaned. 

“It’s all up, major! you’ll have to marry her. ’Twould 
be awfully ungentlemanly to let her know there was any 
mistake.” 

“Do you think so, Fred?” asked the major, with a per- 
ceptible twitch at the corners of his mouth. 


116 


PUT OUT OF MISERY. 


“Certainly, I do,” replied the sorrowful lover; “ and I’m 
sure you can learn to love her ; she is simply an angel — a 
goddess. Confound it 1 you can’t help loving her.” 

“You really believe so, do you, my boy?” asked the 
major, with fatherly gravity. “ But how would you feel 
about it ? ” 

“ As if no one else on earth was good enough for her — 
as if she was the luckiest woman alive,” quickly answered 
the young man, with a great deal of his natural spirit. 
“ ’Twould heal my wound entirely.” 

“ Yery well, my boy,” said the major ; “ I’ll put you out 
of your misery as soon as possible.” 

******* 

Never had the major known an evening whose twilight 
was of such interminable duration. When, however, the 
darkness was sufficient to conceal his face, he walked 
quickly across the street, and to the door of the Wittleday 
mansion. 

That his answer was what he supposed it would be is 
evinced by the fact that, a few months later, his* resignation 
was accepted by the Department, and Mrs. Wittleday became 
Mrs. Martt. 

In so strategic a manner that she never suspected the 
truth, the major told his fiancee the story of the lieutenant’s 
unfortunate love, and so great was the fair widow’s sympathy, 
that she set herself the task of seeing the young man 
happily engaged. This done, she offered him the position 
of engineer of some mining work on her husband’s estate, 
and the major promised him Bose Cottage for a permanent 
residence as soon as he would find a mistress for it. 

Naturally, the young man succombed to the influences 
exerted against him, and, after Mr. and Mrs. Doyson were 
fairly settled, the major told his own wife, to her intense 
amusement, the history of the letter which induced her tc 
change her name. 


BUFFLE. 


H OW lie came by bis name, no one conld tell. In the 
early days of the gold fever there came to California a 
great many men who did not volunteer their names, and as 
those about them had been equally reticent on their own 
advent, they asked few questions of newcomers. 

The hotels of the mining regions never kept registers 
for the accommodation of guests — they were considered 
well-appointed hotels if they kept water-tight roofs and 
well-stocked bars. 

Newcomers were usually designated at first by some 
peculiarity of physiognomy or dress, and were known by 
such names as “Broken Nose,” “Pink Shirt,” “Cross 
Bars,” “ Gone Ears,” etc. ; if, afterward, any man developed 
some peculiarity of character, an observing and original 
miner would coin and apply a new name, which would after- 
ward be accepted as irrevocably as a name conferred by the 
holy rite of baptism. 

No one wondered that Buffle never divulged his real 
name, or talked of his past life ; for in the mines he had 
such an unhappy faculty of winning at cards, getting new 
horses without visible bills of sale, taking drinks beyond 
ordinary power of computation, stabbing and shooting, that 
it was only reasonable to suppose that he had acquired 
these abilities at the sacrifice of the peace of some other 
community. 

He was not vicious — even a strict theologian could hardly 
have accused him of malice ; yet, wherever he went, he was 


118 


A GAME UP AT BUFFLE’s. 


promptly acknowledged chief of that peculiar class which 
renders law and sheriffs necessary evils. 

He was not exactly a beauty — miners seldom were — ^yet a 
connoisseur in manliness could have justly wished there 
were a dash of the Buffle blood in the well-regulated veins 
of many irreproachable characters in quieter neighborhoods 
than Fat Pocket Gulch, where the scene of this story was 
located. 

He was tall, active, prompt and generous, and only those 
who have these qualities superadded to their own virtues 
are worthy to throw stones at his memory. 

He was brave, too. His bravery had been frequently 
recorded in lead in the mining regions, and such records 
were transmitted from place to place with an alacrity which 
put official zeal to the deepest blush. 

At the fashionable hour of two o’clock at night, Mr. Buffle 
was entertaining some friends at his residence ; or, to use 
the language of the mines, “there was a game up to I 
Buffle’s.” In a shanty of the composite order of architec- i 
ture — it having a foundation of stone, succeeded by logs, | 
a gable of coffin misfits and cracker-boxes, and a roof of | 
bark and canvas — ^Buffle and three other miners were play- 
ing “ old sledge.” i 

V The table was an empty pork-barrel; the seats were j 
respectively, a block of wood, a stone, and a raisin-box, with 
a well-stuffed knapsack for the tallest man. | 

On one side of the shanty was a low platform of hewn 
logs, which constituted the proprietor’s couch when he 
slept ; on another was the door, on the third were confusedly 
piled Buffle’s culinary utensils, and on the fourth was a fire- 
place, whose defective draft had been the agent of the fine 
frescoing of soot perceptible on the ceiling. A single candle 
hung on a wire over the barrel, and afforded light auxiliary 
to that thrown out by the fireplace. 

The game had been going largely in Buffle’s favor, as was 
usually the case, when one of the opposition injudiciously 
played an ace which was clearly from another pack of card^ 


WHY BUFFLE DROPPED HIS PISTOL. 


119 


inasmucli as Buffle, wlio had dealt, had the rightful ace in 
his own hand. As it was the ace of trumps, Buffle’s indig- 
nation arose, and so did his person and pistol. 

“Hang yer,” said he, savagely; “yer don’t come that 
game on me. I’ve got that ace myself.” 

An ordinary man would have drawn pistol also, but 
Buffle’ s antagonist knew his only safety lay in keeping quiet, 
so he only stared vacantly at the muzzle of the revolver, 
that was so precisely aimed at his own head. 

The two other players had risen to their feet, and were 
mentally composing epitaphs for the victim, when there was 
heard a decided knock on the door. 

“ Come in !” roared Buffle’s partner, who was naturally 
the least excited of the four. “ Come in, hang yer, if yer 
life’s insured.” 

The door opened slowly, and a woman entered. 

Now, while there were but few women in the camp, the 
sight of a single woman was not at all unusual. Yet, as she 
raised her vail, Buffle’s revolver fell from his hands, and 
the other players laid down their cards ; the partner of the 
guilty man being so overcome as to lay down his hand face 
upward. 

Then they all stared, but not one of them spoke ; they 
wanted to, but none knew how to do it. It was not usually 
difficult for any of them to address such specimens of the 
gentler sex as found their way to Fat Pocket Gulch, but 
they all understood at once that this was a different sort of 
woman. They looked reprovingly and beseechingly at each 
other, but the woman, at last, broke the silence by saying : 

“ I am sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, but I was told I 
could probably find Mr. Buffle here.” 

“ Here he is, ma’am, and yours truly,” said Buffle, remov- 
ing his hat. 

He could afford to. She was not beautiful, but she 
seemed to be in trouble, and a troubled woman can com- 
mand, to the death, even worse men than free-and-easy 
miners. She had a refined, pure face, out of which two 


120 “no MAN KEBKIES VISITIN’- CARDS.” 

great brown eyes looked so tenderly and anxiously, that 
these men forgot themselves at once. She seemed young, 
not more than twenty-three or four ; she was slightly built, 
and dressed in a suit of plain black. 

“Mr. Buffle,” said she, “I was going through by stage to 
San Francisco, when I overheard the driver say to a man 
seated by him that you knew more miners than any man in 
California — that you had been through the whole mining 
country.” 

“Well, mum,” said Buffle, with a delighted but sheepish 
look, which would have become a missionary complimented 
on the number of converts he had made, “ I hev been around 
a good deal, that’s a fact. I reckon I’ve staked a claim 
purty much ev’rywhar in the diggins.” 

“ So I inferred from what the driver said,” she replied, 
“ and I came down here to ask you a question.” 

Here she looked uneasily at the other players. The man 
who stole the ace translated it at once, and said : 

“We’ll git out ef yer say so, mum; but yer needn’t be 
afraid to say enny thing before us. We know a lady when 
we see her, an’ mebbe some on us ken give yer a lift ; if we 
can’t, I’ve only got to say thet ef yer let out enny secrets, 
grizzlies couldn’t tear ’em out uv enny man in this crowd. 
Hey, fellers?” 

“ You bet,” was the firm response of the remaining two, 
and Buffle quickly passed a demijohn to the ace-thief, as a 
sign of forgiveness and approbation. 

“ Thank you, gentlemen — God bless you,” Said the woman, 
earnestly. “ My story is soon told. I am looking for my 
husband, and I must find him. His name is Allan Berryn.” 

Buffle gazed thoughtfully in the fire, and remarked : 

“ Names ain’t much good in this country, mum — no man 
kerries visitin’-cards, an’ mighty few gits letters. Besides, 
lots comes here ’cos they’re wanted elsewhere, an’ they take 
names that ain’t much like what their mothers giv ’em. 
Mebbe you could tell us somethin’ else to put us on the 
trail of him?” 


“he always woee it oyee ms heaet. 121 

“ Hez lie got both of his eyes an’ ears, mum?” inquired one 
of the men. 

“ Uv course he hez, you fool !” replied Buffle, savagely. 
“ The lady’s husband’s a gentleman, an’ ’tain’t likely he’s 
been chawed or gouged.” 

“ I ax parding, mum,” said the offender, in the most abject 
manner. 

“ He is of medium height, slightly built, has brown hair 
and eyes, and wears a plain gold ring on the third finger of 
his left hand,” continued Mrs. Berryn. 

“ Got all his front teeth, mum ?” asked the man Buffle 
had rebuked; then he turned quickly to Buffle, who was 
frowning suspiciously, and said, appeasingly, “Yer know, 
Buffle, that bein’ a gentleman don’t keep a feller from losin’ 
his teeth in the nateral course of things.” 

“ He had all his front teeth a few months ago,” replied 
Mrs. Berryn. “ I do not know how to describe him further 
— he had no scars, moles, or other peculiarities which might 
identify him, except,” she continued, with a faint blush — a 
wife’s blush, which strongly tempted Buffle to kneel and 
kiss the ground she stood on — “ except a locket I once gave 
him, with my portrait, and which he always wore over his 
heart. I can’t believe he would take it off,” said she, with 
a sob that was followed by a flood of tears. 

The men twisted on their seats, and showed every sign of 
uneasiness ; one stepped outside to cough, another suddenly 
attacked the fire and poked it savagely, Buffle impolitely 
turned his back to the company, while the fourth man lost 
himself in the contemplation of the king of spades, which 
card ever afterward showed in its centre a blotch which 
seemed the result of a drop of water. Finally Buffle broke 
the silence by saying : 

“ I’d give my last ounce, and my shootin’-iron besides, 
mum, ef I could put yer on his trail ; but I can’t remember 
no such man ; ken you, fellers ?” 

Three melancholy imds replied in the negative. 

“I am very miicli obliged to you, gentlemen,” said Mrs. 


122 


A DASH OF CAMP GAIJANTRY. 


Berryn. “ I will go back to tbe crossing and take the next 
stage. Perhaps, Mr. Bullle, if I send you my address when 
I reach San Francisco, you will let me know if you ever find 
any traces of him?” 

“ Depend upon all of us for that, mum,” replied Buffle. 

“ Thank you,” said she, and departed as suddenly as she 
had entered, leaving the men staring stupidly at each other. 

“Wonder how she got here from the crossin’ ?” finally 
remarked one. 

“ Ef she came alone, she’s got a black ride back,” said 
another. “ It’s nigh onto fourteen miles to that crossin’.” 

“An’ she orten’t to be travelin’ at all,” said little Muggy, 
the smallest man of the party. “I’m a family man — or I 
wuz once — an’ I tell yer she ort to be where she ken keep 
quiet, an’ wait for what’s cornin’ soon.” 

The men glanced at each other significantly, but without 
any of the levity which usually follows such an announce- 
ment in more cultured circles. 

“This game’s up, boys,” said Buffle, rising suddenly. 
“ The stage don’t reach the crossin’ till noon, an’ she is goin* 
to hev this shanty to stay in till daylight, anyhow. You 
fellers had better git, right away.” 

Saying which, Buffle hurried out to look for Mrs. Berryn. 
He soon overtook her, and awkwardly said : 

“Mum !” 

She stopped. 

“ Yer don’t need to start till after daylight to reach that 
stage, mum, an’ you’d better come back and rest yerself in 
my shanty till mornin’.” 

“ I am very much obliged, sir,” she replied, “ but ” 

“ Don’t be afeard, mum,” said Buffle, hastily. “ We’re 
rough, but a lady’s as safe here as she’d be among her 
family. Ye’ll have the cabin all to yerself, an’ I’ll leave a 
revolver with yer to make yer feel better.” 

“ You are very kind, sir, but — it will take me some time 
to get back.” 

“Horse lame, j)’r’ap3?” 


“clear gold all the way down to bed-rock.” 123 


“No, sir; the truth is, I walked.” 

“ Good God !” ejaculated Buffle ; “ I’ll kill any scoundrel 
of a station-agent that’ll let a woman take such a walk as 
this. I’ll take you back on a good horse before noon 
to-morrow, and I’ll put a hole through that rascal right 
before your eyes, mum.” 

Mrs. Berryn shuddered, at sight of which Buffle mentally 
consigned his eyes to a locality boasting a superheated 
atmosphere, for talking so roughly to a lady. 

“Don’t harm him, Mr. Buffle,” said she. “He knew 
nothing about it. I asked him the road to Fat Pocket 
Gulch, and he pointed it out. He did not know but what I 
had a horse or a carriage. Unfortunately, the stage was 
robbed the day before yesterday, and all my money was 
taken, or I should not have walked here, I assure you. My 
passage is paid to San Francisco, and the driver told me 
that if I wished to come down here, the next stage would 
take me through to San Francisco. When I get there, I can 
soon obtain money from the East.” 

“ Madame,” said Buffle, unconsciously taking off his hat, 
“ any lady that’ll make that walk by dark is clear gold all 
the way down to bed-rock. Ef yer husband’s in California, 
I’ll find him fur yer, in spite of man or devil — I will, an’ I’ll 
be on the trail in half an hour. An’ you’d better stay here 
till I come back, or send yer word. I don’t want to brag, 
but thar ain’t a man in the Gulch that’ll dare molest any- 
thin’ aroun’ my shanty, an’ as thar’s plenty of pervisions 
thar — ^plain, but good — ^yer can’t suffer. The spring is close 
by, an’ you’ll allers find firewood by the door. An’ ef yer 
want help about anythin’, ask the fust man yer see, and say 
I told yer to.” 

Mrs. Berryn looked earnestly into his face for a moment, 
and then trusted him. 

“ Mr. Buffle,” she said, “ he is the best man that ever 
lived. But we were both proud, and we quarrelled, and he 
left me in anger. I accidentally heard he was in California, 
through an acquaintance who saw him leave New York on 


124 


A LOOKING-GLASS AND '‘WORTEB; 


tlie California steamer. If yon see liim, tell liim I was 
wrong, and that I will die if he does not come back. Tell 
liim — tell him — that.” 

“Never mind, mum,” said Buffle, leading her hastily 
toward the shanty, and talking with unusual rapidity. “ I’ll 
bring him back all right ef I find him ; an’ find him I will, 
«f he’s on top of the ground.” 

They entered the cabin, and Buffle was rather astonished 
at the appearance of his own home. The men were gone, 
but on the bare logs, where Buffle usually reposed, they had 
spread their coats neatly, and covered them with a blanket 
which little Muggy usually wore. 

The cards had disappeared, and in their place lay a very 
small fragment of looking-glass ; the ^mijohn stood in its 
accustomed place, but against it leaned a large chip, on 
which was scrawl^d^ in charcoal, the word Worter. 

“ Good,” said Buffle, approvingly. “ Now, mum, keep up 
yer heart. I tell yer I’ll fetch him, an’ any man at the 
Gulch ken tell yer thet lyin’ ain’t my gait.” 

Buffle slammed the door, called at two or three other 
shanties, and gave orders in a style befitting a feudal lordj 
and in ten minutes was on horseback, galloping furiously 
out on the trail to Green Flat. 

The Green Flatites wondered at finding the great man 
among them, and treated him with the most painful civility. 
As he neither hung about the saloon, “ got up ” a game, 
nor provoked a horse-trade, it was immediately surmised 
that he was looking for some one, and each man searchingly 
questioned his trembling memory whether he had ever done 
Buffle an injury. 

All preserved a respectful silence as Buffle walked from 
claim to claim, carefully scrutinizing many, and all breathed 
freer as they saw him and his horse disappear over the hill 
on the Sonora trail. 

At Sonora he considered it wise to stay over Sunday — not 
to enjoy religious privileges, but because on Sunday sinners 
from all parts of the country round flocked into Sonora, to 


THE miners’ ofeerings. 125 

commune with the spirits, infernal rather than celestial, 
gathered there. 

He made the tour of all the saloons, dashed eagerly at 
two or three men, with plain gold rings on left fore-fingers, 
disgustedly found them the wrong men beyond doubt, 
cursed them, and invited them to drink. Then he closely 
catechised all the barkeepers, who were the only reliable 
directories in that country ; they were anxious to oblige 
him, but none could remember such a man. So Buffle took 
his horse, and sought his man elsewhere. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Berryn remained in camp, where she 
was cared for in a manner which called out her astonish- 
ment equally with her gratitude. Buffle was hardly well out 
of the Gulch when Mrs. Berryn heard a knock at the door ; 
she opened it, and a man handed her a frying-pan, with the 
remark, “ Buffle is cracked,” and hastily disappeared. 

In the morning she was awakened by a crash outside the 
door, and, on looking out, discovered a quantity of firewood 
ready cut ; each morning thereafter found in the same place 
a fresh supply, which was usually decorated with offerings 
of different degrees of appropriateness — pieces of fresh 
meat, strings of dried ditto, blankets enough for a large hotel, 
little packages of gold dust, case knives and forks, cans 
of salt butter, and all sorts of ]3rovisions, in quantity. 

Each man in camp fondly believed his own particular 
revolver was better than any other, and, as a natural conse- 
quence, the camp became almost peaceful, by reason of the 
number of pistols that were left in front of Mrs. Berryn’s 
door. But she carefully left them alone, and when this was 
discovered the boys sorrowfully removed them. 

Then old Griff, living up the Gulch, with a horrible bull- 
dog for companion, brought his darling animal down late 
one dark night, and tied him near the lady’s residence, where 
he discoursed sweet sounds for two hours, until, to Mrs. 
Berryn’s delight, he broke his chain, and returned to his 
old home. 

Then Sandytop, the ace-thief, suddenly left camp. Many 


126 


BTEANGE DOINGS AT FAT POCKET GULCH. 


were the surmises and bets on the subject ; and on the third 
day, when two men, one of whom believed he had gone to 
steal a mule, and the other believed he had rolled into the 
creek while drunk, were about to refer the whole matter to 
pistols, they were surprised at seeing Sandytop stagger into 
camp, under a large, unsightly bundle. The next day Mrs. 
Berryn ate from crockery instead of tin, and had a china 
wash-bowl and pitcher. 

Little Muggy, who sold out his claim the day after Buffle 
left, went to San Francisco, but reappeared in camp in a 
few days, with a large bundle, a handsaw and a plane. 
Some light was thrown on the contents of the bundle by 
sundry scraps of linen, cotton, and very soft flannel, that 
the wind occasionally blew from the direction of Mrs. 
Berryn’s abode ; but why Muggy suddenly needed a very 
large window in the only boarded side of his house ; why 
he never staked another claim and went to “ washing why 
his door always had to be unlocked from the inside before 
any one could get in, instead of being ajar, as was the usual 
custom with doors at Fat Pocket Gulch; why visitors 
always found the floor strewn with shavings and blocks, but 
were told to mind their business if they asked what he was 
making ; and why TJppercrust, an aristocratic young repro- 
bate, who had been a doctor in the States, had suddenly 
taken up his abode with Muggy, were mysteries unsolvable 
by the united intellects of Fat Pocket Gulch. 

It was finally suggested by some one, that, as Muggy 
had often and fluently cursed the “ rockers ” used to wash 
out dirt along the Gulch, it was likely enough he was ■ 
inventing a new one, and the ex-doctor, who, of course, 
knew something about chemistry, was helping him to work 
an amalgamator into it; a careful comparison of bets 
showed this to be a fairly accepted opinion, and so the 
matter rested. 

Meanwhile, Buffle had been untiring in his search, as his 
horse, could he have spoken, would have testified. Men 
wondered what Berryn had done to Buffle, and odds of ten 


THE CHAIN AND LOCKET. 


127 


to one tliat some undertaker would soon have reason to 
bless Buffle were freely offered, but seldom taken. One 
night Buffle’ s horse galloped into Deadlock Eidge, and the 
rider, hailing the first man he met, inquired the way to the 
saloon. 

“ I don’t know,” replied the man. 

“ Come, no foolin’ thar,” said Buffle, indignantly, 
don’t know, I tell you — I don’t drink.” 

“Hang yer!” roared Buffle, in honest fury at what 
seemed to him the most stupendous lie ever told by a 
miner, “I’ll teach yer to lie to me.” And out came Buffle’s 
pistol. 

The man saw his danger, and, springing at Buffle with 
the agility of a cat, snatched the pistol and threw it on the 
ground ; in an instant Buffle’s hand had firmly grasped the 
man by his shirt-collar, and, the horse taking fright, Buffle, 
a second later, found in his hand a torn piece of red flannel, 
a chain, and a locket, while the man lay on the ground. 

“ At last 1” exclaimed Buffle, convinced that he had found 
his man ; but his emotions were quickly cooled by the man 
in the road, who, jumping from the ground, picked up 
Baffle’s pistol, cocked and aimed it, and spoke in a grating 
voice, as if through set teeth : 

“ Give back that locket this second, or, as God lives. I’ll 
take it out of a dead man’s hand.” 

The rapidity of human thought is never so beautifully 
illustrated as when the owner of a human mind is serving 
involuntarily as a target. 

“My friend,” said Buffle, “ef I’ve got anything uv 
yourn, yer ken hev it on provin’ property. We’ll go to 
whar that fust light is up above — I’ll walk the hoss slow, 
an* yer ken keep me covered with the pistol; ain’t that 
fair?” 

“ Be quick, then,” said the man, excitedly ; “ start !” 

The trip was not more than two minutes in length, but 
it seemed a good hour to Buffle, whose acquaintanceship 
with the delicacy of the trigger of his beloved pistol caused 


12S “ i’ll apologize, er drink, er fight/’ 

liis past life to pass in retrospect before him several times 
before they reached the light. The light proved to be in 
the saloon whose locality had provoked the quarrel. The 
saloon was full, the door was open, and there was a buzz of 
astonishment, which culminated in a volley of ejaculations, 
in which strength predominated over elegance, as a large 
man, followed closely by a small man with a cocked pistol, 
marched up to the bar. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Buffle, “ this feller sez I’ve got some 
uv his property, an’ he’s come here to prove it. Now, feller, 
wot’s yer claim ?” 

“ A chain and locket,” said the man ; “ hang you, I see 
them in your hand now.” 

‘‘ Ennybody ken see a chain an’ locket in my hand,” said 
Buffle, “but that don’t make it yourn.” 

“The locket contains the portrait of a lady, and the 
inscription ‘ Frances to Allan ’ — ^look quick, or I’ll shoot !” ; 
said the little man, savagely. 

Buffle opened it, and saw Mrs. Berryn’s portrait. 

“Mister, yer right,” said he; “here’s yer property, an’ 
I’ll apologize, er drink, er fight — er apologize, an^ drink, arC 
fight, whichever is yer style. Fust, however, ef ye’ll drop 
that pistol. I’ll drink myself, considerin’ — never mind. 
Denominate yer pizen, gentlemen,” said he, as the audience 
crowded to the bar. 

“ Buffle,” whispered the barkeeper, who knew the great 
man by sight, “ he’s a littler man than you.” 

“ I know it, boss,” replied Buffle, most brazenly. “ He 
sez he don’t drink.” 

“ Never saw him here before — there, he’s goin’ out now,” 
said the barkeeper. 

Buffle turned and dashed through the crowd ; all who 
held glasses quickly laid them down and followed. 

“ Stand back, the hull crowd uv yer,” said Buffle ; “ this 
ain’t no fight — me an’ the gentleman got private bizness.” 
And, laying his hand on Berryn’s shoulder, he said,“ What 
are yer doin’ here, when yer know a lady like that ?” 


VOTJCniNG FOR RUFFLE. 


129 


** Suffering hell for abusing heaven,”’ replied Berryn, 
passionately. 

“ Then why don’t yer go back ?” inquired Buffle. 

“ Because I’ve got no money ; all luck has failed me ever 

since I left home — shipwreck, hunger, poverty ” 

Come back a minute,” interrupted Buffle. I forgot to 
come down with the dust for the drinks. Now I tell yer 
what — I want yer to go back to my camp — I’ve got plenty 
uv gold, an’ it’s no good to me, only fur gamblin’ an’ drinkin’ ; 
yer welcome to enough uv it to git yerself home, an’ git on 
yer feet when yer get thar.” 

Berryn looked doubtingly at him as they entered the 
saloon. 

“P’r’aps somebody here ken tell this gentleman my 
name ?” said Buffle. 

“ Buffle !” said several voices in chorus. 

“ Bully ! Now, p’r’aps you same fellers ken tell him el 
I’m a man uv my word ?” 

“ You bet,” responded the same chorus. 

“An’ now, p’r’aps some uv yer’ll sell me a good hoss, 
pervidin’ yer don’t want him stole mighty sudden ?” 

Several men invited attention to their respective animals, 
tied near the door. Promptly selecting one, paying for it, 
and settling with the barkeeper, and mounting his own 
horse while Berryn mounted the new one, the two men gal- 
loped away, leaving the bystanders lost in astonishment, 
from which they only recovered after almost superhuman 
industry on the part of the barkeeper. 


One evening, when the daily labors and household cares 
of the Pat Pocket Gulchites had ended, the residents of that 
quiet village were congregated, as usual, at the saloon. It 
was too early for gambling and fighting, and the boys 
chatted peacefully, pausing only a few times to drink 
“ Here’s her,” which had become the standard toast of the 
Gulch. Conversation turned on Muggy’s invention, and a 


130 


SHIET-SLEEVES FOR HANDKERCHIEFS 


few bets were exchanged, which showed the boys were not 
quite sure it was a rocker, after all. Suddenly Sandytop, 
who had been leaning against the door-frame, and, looking 
in the direction of Buffle’s old cabin, ejaculated : 

“ ’ Tis a rocker, boys — it’s a rocker, but — ^but not that 
kind.” 

The boys poured out the door, and saw an unusual 
procession approaching Mrs. Berryn’s cabin; first came 
Uppercrust, the young ex-doctor, then an Irishwoman from 
a neighboring settlement, and then Muggy, bearing a baby’s 
cradle, neatly made of pine boards. The doctor and woman' 
went in, and Muggy, dropping the cradle, ran at full speed 
to the saloon, and up to the bar, the crowd following. 

Muggy looked along the line, saw all the glasses were 
filled and in hand, and then, raising his own, exclaimed, 
“ Here’s her, boys !” and then went into a fully developed 
boo-hoo. And he was not alone ; for once the boys watered 
their liquor, and purer water God never made. 

It was some moments before shirt-sleeves ceased to 
officiate as handkerchiefs ; but just as the boys commenced 
to look savagely at each other, as if threatening cold lead if 
any one suspected undue tenderness, Sandy top, who had 
returned to his post at the door to give ease to the stream 
which his sleeve could not staunch, again startled the crowd 
by staring earnestly toward the hill over which led the trail, 
and exclaiming, “ Good God !” 

There was another rush to the door, and there, galloping 
down the trail, was Buffie and another man. The boys 
stared at each other, but said nothing — ^their gift of swear- 
ing was not equal to the occasion. 

Steadily they stared at the two men, until Buftle, reining 
back a little, pointed his pistol threateningly. They took 
the hint, and after they were all inside, Sandytop closed the 
door and the shutters of the unglazed windows. 

“Thar’s my shanty,” said Buffie, as they neared it from 
one side ; “ that one with two bar’ls fur a chimley. Yoti 
jest go right in. I’ll be thar ez soon ez I put up the bosses.” 


USES A FAMTLIAR NAME REVERENTLY. 


131 


As they reached the front, both men started at the sight 
of the cradle. 

“ Why, I didn’t know you were a married man, Buffle 
said his companion. 

“ I — well — I — I — don’t tell everythin’,” stammered Buffle ; 
and, catching the bridle of Berryn’s horse the moment his • 
rider had dismounted, Buffle dashed off to the saloon, and 
took numerous solitary drinks, at which no one took offense. 
Then he turned, nodded significantly toward the old shanty, 
and asked : 

“ How long since ?” 

“ Not quite yit — yer got him here in time, Buffle,” said 
Muggy. 

“Thank the Lord!” said Buffle. His lips were very 
familiar with the name of the Lord, but they had never 
before used it in this sense.” 

Then, while several men were getting ready to ask Buffle 
where he found his man — Californians never ask questions 
in a hurry — there came from the direction of Buffle’s shanty 
the sound of a subdued cry. 

“Gentlemen,” said the barkeeper, “there’s no more 
drinking at this bar to-night until — until I say so.” 

No one murmured. No one swore. No one suggested a 
game. An old enemy of Buffle’s happened in, but that 
worthy, instead of feeling for his pistol, quietly left the 
leaning-post, and bowed his enemy into it. 

The boys stood and sat about, studied the cracks in the ^ 
floor, the pattern of the shutters, contemplated the insides 
of their hats, and chewed tobacco as if their lives depended 
on it. 

Buffle made frequent trips to the door, and looked out. 
Suddenly he closed the door, and had barely time to whis- 
per, “ No noise, now, or I’ll shoot,” when the doctor walked 
in. The crowd arose. 

“ It’s all right,” gentlemen,” said the doctor — “ as fine a 
boy as I ever saw.” 

“ My treat for the rest of the evening, boys,” said tho 


132 


THE NEW resident’s CRADLE. 


barkeeper, hurriedly crowding glasses and bottles on the 
bar. ‘‘ Her,” “ Him,” “ Him, Junior,” “ Buffle,” “ Doc.,” and 
“ Old Eockershop,” as some happily inspired miner dubbed 
little Muggy, were drunk successively. 

The door opened again, and in walked Allan Berryn. 
Glancing quickly about, he soon distinguished Buffle. He 
grasped his hand, looked him steadily in the eye, and 
exclaimed : 

“ Buffle, you ” 

He was a Harvard graduate, and a fine talker, was Allan 
Berryn, but, when he had spoken two words, he somehow 
forgot the remainder of the speech he had made up on his 
way over ; his silence for two or three seconds seemed of 
hours to every man who looked on his face, so that it was a 
relief to all when he gave Buffle a mighty hug, and then 
precipitately retreated. 

Buffle looked sheepish, and shook himself. 

“ That feller can outhug a grizzly,” said he. “ Boys,” 
he continued, “ that chap’s been buckin’ agin luck sence he’s 
been in the diggin’s, an’ is clean busted. But his luck 
begun to turn this evening, an’ here’s what goes for keepin’ 
the ball a-rollin’. Here’s my ante saying which, he laid 
his old hat on the bar, took out his buckskin bag of gold- 
dust, and emptied it into the hat. 

Bags came out of pockets all around, and were either 
entirely emptied, or had their contents largely diminished by 
knife-blades, which scooped out the precious dust, and 
dropped it into the hat. 

“ There,” said Buffle, looking into the hat,” “ I reckon 
that’ll kerry ’em back to their folks.” 

For a fortnight the saloon was as quiet as a well-ordered 
prayer-meeting, and it was solemnly decided that no fight 
with pistols should take place nearer than The Bend, which 
was, at least, a mile from where the new resident’s cradle 
lyas located. 

One pleasant, quiet evening, Buffle, who frequently 
passed an hour with Berryn on the latter’s woodpile, was 


THE BABY PASSED AROUND. 


133 


seen approaching the saloon with a very small bundle, 
which, nevertheless, occupied both his arms and all his 
attention. 

“ It, by thunder,” said one. So it was ; a wee, pink- 
faced, blue-eyed, fuzzy-topped little thing, with one hand 
frantically clutching three hairs of Buffle’s beard. 

“ See the little thing pull,” said one. 

“ Is that all the nose they hev at fust ?” asked another, 
seriously. 

“ Can’t yer take them pipes out uv yer mouths when the 
baby’s aroun’ ?” indignantly demanded another. 

Little Muggy edged his way through the crowd, threw 
away his quid of tobacco, took the baby from Buffle, and 
kissed it a dozen times. 

“I’m goin’ home, fellers,” said Muggy, finally. “I’m 
wanted by the lawyers for cuttin’ a man that sassed me 
while I was shoe-makin’. But I’m a-goin’ to see my young 
uns, even if all creation wants me.” 

“An’ I’m a-goin’, too,” said Bufile. “I’m wanted pretty 
bad by some that’s East, but I reckon I’m well enough hid 
by the har that’s grow’d Sence I wuz a boy, an’ dug out from 
old Yarmont. I’ve had a new taste uv decency lately, an’ 
I’m goin’ to see ef I can’t stan’ it for a stiddy diet. The 
chap over to the shanty sez he ken git me somethin’ to do, 
an’ enny thin’s better’n gamblin’, drinkin’, and fightin’. 

“ It’s agin the law to kerry shootin’-irons there, Buffle,” 
suggested one. 

“ Yes, an’ they got a new kind uv a law there, to keep a 
man from takin’ his bitters,” said another. 

“ Yes,” said Buffle, “ all that’s mighty tough, but ef a 
feller’s bound fur bed-rock, he might ez well git that all uv 
a sudden, ef he ken.” 

Buffle started toward the door, stopped as if he had 
something else to say, started again, hesitated, feigned 
indignation at the baby, flushed the least bit, opened the 
door, partly closed it again, squeezed himself out and dis- 
playing only the tip of his nose,. roared : 


131 : 


THE BEREYN’S ESCORT. 


“ This baby’s name is Allan Buffle Berryn — Allen 
Bnjffle Berryn!” and then rushed at full speed to leave 
the baby at home, while the boys clinked glasses me- 
lodiously. 

At the end of another fortnight there was a procession 
f :)rmed at Fat Pocket Gulch ; two horses, one wearing a 
side-saddle, were brought to the door of Buffle’s old house, 
and Mrs. Berryn and her husband mounted them ; they 
were soon joined by Buffle and Muggy. 



“THIS BA.BYS NAME IS ALLAN BUFFLE BEEKYN.” 


For months after there was mourning far and wide among 
owners of mules and horses, for each Gulchite had been out 
stealing, that he might ride with the escort which was to see 
the Berryns safely to the crossing. An advance-guard was 
sent ahead, and the party were about to start, when Buffle 
suddenly dismounted and entered his old cabin ; when he 
reappeared, a cloud of smoke followed him. 

“ Thar,” said he, a moment later, as flames were seen 


THE CHARACTERISTIC DEPARTURE. 


135 


bursting througli the roof, “ no galoot uv a miner don’t live 
in that shanty after that. Git.’’ 

Away galloped the party, the baby in the arms of its 
father. The crossing was safely reached, and the stage had 
room for the whole party, and, after a hearty hand-shaking 
all around, the stage started. Sandytop threw one of his 
only two shoes after it for luck. 

As the stage was disappearing around a bend, a little 
way from the crossing, the back curtain was suddenly thrown 
up, a baby, backed by a white hat and yellow beard, was 
seen, and a familiar voice was heard to roar, “ Allan BuMe 
Berryn.” 



MATALETTE’S SECTION. 


ii ATICE place ? I guess it is ; tlier hain’t no sucli farm in 
this part of Illinoy, nor anywhere else that I knows 
on. Two-story house, and painted instead of being white- 
washed ; blinds on the winders ; no thirty-dollar horses in 
the barn, an’ no old, unpainted wagons around ; no deadened 
trees standin’ aroun’ in the corn-lot or the wheat-field — not 
a one. Good cribs to hold his corn, instead of leaving it on 
the stalk, or tuckin’ it away in holler sycamore logs, good 
pump to h’ist his drinkin’ -water with, good help to keep uj) 
with the work — why, ther hain’t a man on Matalette’s whole 
place that don’t look smart enough to run a farm all alone 
by himself. And money — well, he don’t ask no credit of no 
man : he just hauls out his money and pays up, as if he 
enjoyed gettin’ rid of it. There’s nobody like him in these 
parts, you can just bet your life.” 

The speaker was a Southern Illinoisan of twenty-five 
years ago, and his only auditor was a brother farmer. 

Both worked hard and shook often (with ague) between 
the seed time and harvest, but neither had succeeded in 
amassing such comfortable results as had seemed to reward 
the efforts of their neighbor Matalette. For the listener had 
not heard half the story of Matalette’s advantages. He was 
as good-natured, smart and hospitable as he was lucky. 
He indulged in the unusual extravagance of a hired cook ; 
and the neighbors, though they, on principle, disapproved of 
such expenditure, never failed to appreciate the results of 
the said cook’s labors. 


BLVTALETTE HAD A DAUGHTER. 


137 


Mataletfce had a sideboard, too, and the contents smelled 
and tasted very nnlike the liquor which was sold at the only 
store in Bonpas Bottoms. 

When young Lauquer, who was making a gallant fight 
against a stumpy quarter section, had his only horse lie 
down and die just as the second corn-plowing season came 
on, it was Matalette who supplied the money which bought 
the new horse. 

When the inhabitants of the Bottoms wondered and 
talked and argued about the advisability of trying some new 
seed- wheat, which had the reputation of being very heavy, 
Matalette settled the whole question by ordering a large lot, 
and distributing it with his compliments. 

Lastly — though -the statement has not, strictly speaking, 
any agricultural bearing — Matalette had a daughter. There 
were plenty of daughters among the families in Bonpas 
Bottoms, and many of them were very estimable girls ; but 
Helen Matalette was very different from any of them. 

“ Always knows just what to say and do,” remarked Syle 
Conover, one day, at the store, where the male gossips of 
the neighborhood met to exchange views. “ A fellow goes 
up to see Matalette — goes in his shirt-sleeves, not expectin’ 
to see any women around — when who comes to the door but 
her. For a minute a fellow wishes he could fiy, or sink ; 
next minute he feels as if he’d been acquainted with her for 
d year. Hanged if I understand it, but she’s the kind of 
gal I go in fur ! ” 

The latter clause of Syle’s speech fitly expressed tho 
sentiments of all the young men in Bonpas Bottoms, as 
well as of many gentlemen not so young. 

Old men — farmers with daughters of their own — would 
cheerfully forego the delights of either a prayer-meeting or 
a circus, and suddenly find some business to transact with 
Matalette, whenever there seemed a reasonable chance of 
seeing Helen ; and such of them as had sons of a marriage- 
able age would express to those young men their entire 
willingness to be promoted to the rank of fathers-in-law. 


13S STRANGE COMMOTION AT THE SUrRER-TABLE. 

There was just one unpleasant thing about the Mata- 
lettes, both father and daughter, and that was, the ease with 
which one could startle them. 

It was rather chilling, until one knew Matalette well, to 
see him tremble and start violently on being merely slapped 
on the shoulder by some one whose approach he had not 
noticed ; it was equally unpleasant for a newcomer, on sud- 
denly confronting Helen, to see her turn pale, and look 
quickly and furtively about, as if preparing to run. 

The editor of the Bonpas CornUade, in a sonnet addressed 
to “ H. M.,” compared this action to that of a startled fawn ; 
but the public wondered whether Helen’s father could possi- 
bly be excused in like manner, and whether the comparison 
could, with propriety, be extended so as to include the three 
hired men, who, curiously enough, were equally timorous at 
first acquaintance. 

But this single fault of the Matalettes and their adherents 
was soon forgotten, for it did not require a long residence in 
Bonpas Bottoms to make the acquaintance of every person 
living in that favored section, and strangers — except such 
passengers as occasionally strolled ashore while the steam- 
boat landed supplies for the store, or shipped the grain 
which Matalette was continually buying and sending to New 
Orleans — seldom found their way to Bonpas Bottoms. 

The Matalettes sat at supper one evening, when there 
was heard a knock at the door. There was in an instant an 
unusual commotion about the table, at which sat the three 
hired men, with the host and his daughter — a commotion 
most extraordinary for a land in which neither Indians nor 
burglars were known. 

Each of the hired men hastily clicked something under 
the table, while Helen turned pale, but quickly drew a small 
stiletto from a fold of her dress. 

“Beady?” asked Matalette, in a low tone, as he took a 
candle from the table, and placed his unoccupied hand in 
his pocket. 

“Yes,” whispered each of the men, while Helen nodded. 


WELCOMING THE YOUNG PREACHER. 


139 


Who’s there?” shouted Matalette, approaching the 
outer door. 

“ I — ^Asbury Crewne — the new circuit preacher,” replied 
a voice. I’m wet, cold and hungry — can you give me shel- 
ter, in the name of my Master?” 

“Certainly!” cried Matalette, hastening to open the 
door, while the three hired men rapidly repocketed their 
pistols, and Helen gave vent to a sigh of relief. 

They heard a heavy pack thrown on the floor, a hearty 
greeting from Matalette, and then they saw in the doorway 
a tall, straight young man, whose blue eyes, heavy, closely 
curling yellow hair and flnely cut features made him ex- 
tremely handsome, despite a solemn, puritanical look which 
not even a driving rain and a cold wind had been able to 
banish from his face. 

There were many worthy young men in the Bonpas 
Bottoms, but none of them were at all so flne-looking as 
Asbury Crewne ; so, at least, Helen seemed to think, for she 
looked at him steadily, except when he was looking at her. 
Of course, Crewne, being a preacher, took none but a 
spiritual interest in young ladies ; but where a person’s face 
seems to show forth the owner’s whole soul, as was the case 
with Helen Matalette’ s, a minister of the Gospel is certainly 
justifiable in looking oft and long at it — nay, is even grossly 
culpable if he does not regard it with a lively and tender 
interest. 

Such seemed to be the young divine’s train of reasoning, 
and his consequent conclusion, for, from the time he ex- 
changed his dripping clothing for a suit of Matalette’s own, 
he addressed his conversation almost entirely to Helen. And 
Helen, who very seldom met, in the Bonpas Bottoms, gen- 
tlemen of taste and intelligence, seemed to be spending an 
unusually agreeable evening, if her radiant and expressive 
countenance might be trusted to tell the truth. 

When the young preacher, according to the custom of 
his class and denomination, at that day, finally turned the 
course of conversation toward the one reputed object of his 


14:0 


A SPORT IN SPIRIT. 


life, it was with a sigh which indicated, perhaps, how 
earnestly he regretted that the dominion of Satan in the world 
compelled him to withdraw his soul from such pure and un- 
usual delights as had been his during that evening. And 
when, after offering a prayer with the family, Crewne fol- 
lowed Matalette to a chamber to rest, Helen bade him good- 
night with a bright smile which mixed itself up inextricably 
with his private devotions, his thoughts and his plans for 
forthcoming sermons, and seriously curtailed his night’s 
rest in addition. 

In the morning it v/as found that his clothing was still 
wet, so, as it v/as absolutely necessary that he should go to 
fulfil an appointment, it was arranged that he should retain 
Matalette’s clothing, and return within a few days for his 
own. 

Then Matalette, learning that the young man was travel- 
ing his circuit on foot, insisted on lending him a horse, and 
on giving him money with which to purchase one. 

It was a great sum of money — more than his salary for a 
year amounted to — and the young man’s feelings almost 
overcame him as he tried to utter his thanks; but just 
then Helen made her first appearance during the morning, 
and from the instant she greeted Crewne all thoughts of 
gratitude seemed to escape his mind, unless, indeed, he 
suddenly determined to express his thanks through a third 
party. Such a supposition would have been fully warranted 
by the expressive looks he cast upon Helen’s handsome face. 

Had any member of the flock at Mount Pisgah Station 
seen these two young people during the moment or two 
which followed Helen’s appearance, he would have sorrow- 
fully but promptly dismissed from his mind any expectation 
of hearing the sermon which Crewne had promised to preach 
at Mount Pisgah that morning. But the young preacher 
was of no ordinary human pattern : with sorrow, yet deter- 
mination, he bade Helen good-by, and though, as he rode 
away, he frequently turned his head, he never stopped his 
horse. 


THE EIGHT PIG BY THE EAE. 


141 


Down the road through the dense forest he went, trying, 
by reading his Bible as he rode, to get his mind in proper 
condition for a mighty effort at Mount Pisgah. He wasn’t con- 
scious of doing such a thing — he could honestly lay his hand 
on his heart and say he had’nt the slightest intention of 
doing anything of the kind, yet somehow his Bible opened, 
at the Song of Solomon. For a moment he read, but for a 
moment only ; then he shut his lips tightly, and deliberately 
commenced reading the Book of Psalms. 

He had fairly restored his mind to working shape, and 
was just whispering fervent thanks to the Lord, when a 
couple of horsemen galloped up to him. As he turned his 
head to see who they might be, he observed that each of 
them held a pistol in a very threatening manner. As he 
looked, however, the pistols dropped, and one of the riders 
indulged in a profane expression of disappointment. 

“ It’s Matalette’s clothes and horse, Jim,” he said to his 
companion, “ but it’s the preacher’s face. 

“ And you have been providentially deferred from com- 
mitting a great crime !” exclaimed Crewne, with a reproving 
look. “ Mr. Matalette took me in last night, wet, cold, and 
footsore ; this morning I departed, refreshed, clothed and 
mounted. To rob a man who is so lavish of ” 

“ Beg your pardon, parson,” interrupted one of the men, 
“ but you haven’t got the right pig by the ear. We’re not 
highwaymen. I’m the sheriff of this county, and Jim’s a 
constable. And as for Matalette, he’s a counterfeiter, and 
we’re after him.” 

Crewne dropped his bridle-rein, and his lower jaw, as ho 
exclaimed : 

“ Impossible !” 

“’Tis, eh?” said the sheriff. “Well, we’ve examined 
several lots of money he’s paid out lately, and there isn’t a 
good bill among ’em.” 

Crewne mechanically put his hands in his pocket and 
drew forth the money Matalette had given him to buy a 
horse with. The sheriff snatched it. 


142 ' LEFT TOWN ’fOEE THE PUDDIN’ WAS DONE.” 

“ That’s some of his stock ?” said he, looking it rapidly 
over. That seems good enough.” 

“What will become of his poor daughter?” ejaculated 
the young preacher, with a vacant look. 

“ What, Helen ?” queried the sheriff. “ She’s the best 
engraver of counterfeits there is in the whole West.” 

“Dreadful — dreadful!” exclaimed the young preacher, 
putting his hand over his eyes. 

“Fact,” replied the sheriff! “You parsons have got a 
big job to do ’fore this world’s in the right shape, an’ sheriffs 
and constables ain’t needed. Wish you good luck at it, 
though ’twill be bad for trade. You’ll keep mum ’bout this 
case, of course. We’ll catch ’em in the act finally; then 
there won’t be any danger about not getting a conviction, 
an’ our reward, that’s offered by the banks.” 

The sheriff and his assistant galloped on to the village 
they had been approaching when they overtook Crewne ; 
but the young minister did not accompany them, although 
the village toward which they rode was the one in which he 
was to preach that morning. 

Perhaps he needed more time and quietness in which 
to compose his sermon. If this supposition is correct, 
it may account for the fact that the members of the 
Mount Pisgah congregation pronounced his sermon that 
day, from the text, “ All is vanity,” one of his most power- 
ful efforts. 

In fact, old Mrs. Reets, who had for time immemorial 
entertained the probable angels who appeared at Mount 
Pisgah in ministerial guise, remarked that “preacher 
seemed all tuckered out by that talk ; tuk his critter, an* 
left town ’fore the puddin’ was done.” 

That same evening, the sheriff and his deputy, with 
several special assistants, rode from Mount Pisgah toward 
Matalette’s section. 

The night was dark, rainy and cloudy ; the horses stum- 
bled over roots and logs in the imperfectly made road ; the 
low-hanging branches spitefully cut the faces of the riders, 


THE SHEIvIFP IN DANGER. 


143 


and bronglit several hats to grief, and snatched the sheriff’s 
pipe ont of his month. 

And yet the sheriff seemed in excellent spirits. To be 
sure, he softly whistled the air of, “ Jordan is a hard road to 
travel,” which was the popular air twenty-five years ago, but 
there was a merry tone to his whistle. He stopped whist- 
ling suddenly, and remarked to the constable : 

“Got notice to-day of another new counterfeit. Five 
hundred offered for arrest and conviction on that Hope we 
can prove that on Matalette’s gang. We can go out of 
politics, and run handsome farms of our own, if things go 
all right to-night. Don’t know but I’d give my whole share, 
though, to whoever would arrest Heleru It’s a dog’s life, 
anyhow, this bein’ a sheriff. I won’t complain, however, if 
we get that gang to-night.” 

The party rode on until they were within a mile of Mata- 
lette’s section, when they reined their horses into the 
woods, dismounted, left a man on watch, and approached 
the dwelling on foot. 

Heaching the fence, the party halted, whispered together 
for a moment, and silently surrounded the house in different 
directions. 

The sheriff removed his boots, walked noiselessly around 
the house, saw that he had a man at each door and window, 
and posted one at the cellar-door. Then the sheriff put on 
his boots, approached the front door, and knocked loudly. 

There was no response. The light was streaming 
brightly from one of the windows, and the sheriff tried to 
look in, but the thick curtain prevented him. He knocked 
again, and louder, but still there was no response. Then he 
became uneasy. He was a brave man when he knew what 
was to be met, but now all sorts of uncomfortable suspicions 
crossed his mind ; the rascals might be up-stairs waiting for 
a quiet opportunity to shoot down at him, or they might 
be under the small stoop on which he stood, and preparing 
to fire up at him. They might be quietly burning fchoir 
spurious money up-stairs, so as to destroy the evidence 


144 


A SABBATH-SCnOOL SUPERINTENDENT SWEARS. 


against tliem ; they might be in the cellar burying the 
plates. 

The sheriff could endure the suspense no longer. Signal- 
ing to him two of his men, he, with a blow of a stick of wood, 
broke in the window-sash. As, immediately afterward, he 
tore aside the curtain, he and his assistance presented 
pistols and shouted : 

“ Surrender !” 

No one was visible, and the sheriff only concealed his 
sheepish feelings by jumping into the room. His assistants 
followed him, and they searched the entire house without 
finding any one. 

They searched the cellar, the outhouses, and the barn, 
but encountered only the inquiring glances of the horses and 
cattle. Then they searched the house anew, hoping to find 
proof of the guilt of Matalette and his family ; but, excepting 
holes in the floor of a vacant room, they found nothing which 
might not be expected in a comfortable home. 

Suddenly some one thought of the boats which Mata- 
lette kept at the mouth of the creek, and a detachment, 
headed by the sheriff, went hastily down to examine them. 

The boats were gone — ^not even the tiniest canoe or most 
dilapidated skiff remained. It is grievous to relate — ^but 
truth is truth — that the sheriff, who was on Sundays a Sab- 
bath-school superintendent, now lost his temper and swore 
frightfully. But no boats were conjured up by the sheriff’s 
language, nor did his assistance succeed in finding any up 
the creek ; so the party returned to the house, and resorted 
to the illegal measure of helping themselves liberally to the 
contents of Matalette’s sideboard. 

Meanwhile a black mass, floating down the Wabash, 
about a dozen miles below the Bonpas’s mouth, seemed the 
cause of some mysterious plunging and splashing in the river. 
Finally an aperture appeared in the black mass, and the 
light streamed out. Then the figure of a man appeared in 
the aperture, and all was dark again. 

As the figure disappeared within the mass, three bearded 


THE minister’s RECORD. 


145 


men, dressed like emigrants, looked up furtively, one yellow- 
haired man stared vacantly and sadly into the fire which 
illumed the cabin of the little trading boat, while Helen 
Matalette sprang forward and threw her arms about the 
figure’s neck. 

“ It’s all gone, Nell,” said the man. “ Presses and plates 
are where nobody will be likely to find them. The Wabash 
won’t tell secrets.” 

“ I’m so glad — oh, so glad !” cried the girl. 

“It’s a fortune thrown away,” said one of the men, 
moodily. 

“Yes, and a bad name, too,” said she, with flashing 
eyes. 

“We’re beggars for life, anyhow,” growled another of 
the men. 

“Nonsense !” exclaimed Matalette. “Nell’s right — if 
we’re not tracked and caught. I’ll never be sorry that we 
Slink the accursed business for ever. And, considering our 
narrow escape, and how it happened, I don’t think we’re 
very gentlemanly to sit here bemoaning our luck. Mr. 
Crewne,” continued Matalette, crossing to the yellow-haired 
figure in front of the fire, “you’ve saved me — what can I 
give you?” 

The young preacher recovered himself, and replied, 
briefly : 

“Tour soul.” 

Matalette winced, and, in a weak voice, asked : 

“Anything else ?” 

Crewne looked toward Helen ; Helen blushed, and 
looked a little frightened ; Crewne blushed, too, and seemed 
to be clearing his throat; then, with a mighty effort, he 
said : 

“ Yes — ^Helen.” 

The counterfeiter looked at his daughter for an instant, 
and then failed to see her partly because something marred 
tlie clearness of his vision just then, and partly because 
Crewne, interpreting the father’s silence as consent, took 


146 


A YOUNG PEEACHER AND A HANDSOME WIFE. 


possession of the reward he had named, and almost hid her 
from her father’s view. 

Matalette’s section was finally sold for taxes, and was 
never reclaimed, but the excitement relating to its former 
occupants was for years so great that the purchasers of the 
estate found it worldly wisdom to dispense refreshments on 
the ground. 

As for Crewne — a few months after the occurrences 
mentioned above there appeared, in the wilds of Missouri, 
a young preacher with unusual zeal and a handsome wife. 
And about the same time four men entered a quarter-section 
of prairie-land near the young preacher’s station, and 
appeared then and evermore to be the most ardent and 
faithful of the young man’s admirers. 



-^YJEJLTJl ■ 




CAPTAIN SAM’S CHANGE. 


** tliere’s nothin’ to do. but to hev faith, an’ keep 

VV a-tryin’.” 

The speaker was old Mrs. Simmons, boarding-house 
keeper, and resident of a certain town on the Ohio River. 
The prime cause of her remark was Captain Sam Toppie, of 
the steamboat Queen Ann. ^ 

Captain Sam had stopped with Mrs. Simmons every time 
the Queen Ann laid up for repairs, and he was so genial, 
frank and manly, that he had found a warm spot in the 
good old lady’s heart. 

But one thing marred the otherwise perfect happiness of 
Mrs. Simmons when in Captain Sam’s society, and that was 
what she styled his “ lost condition.” For Mrs. Simmons 
was a consistent, conscientious Methodist, while Captain 
Sam was — ^well, he was a Western steamboat captain. 

This useful class of gentlemen are in high repute among 
shippers and barkeepers, and receive many handsome com- 
pliments from the daily papers along the line of the Western 
rivers ; but, somehow, the religious Press is entirely silent 
about them, nor have we ever seen of any special mission 
having been sent to them. 

Captain Sam was a good specimen of the fraternity — 
good-looking, good-natured, quick-witted, prompt, and 
faithful, as well as quick-tempered, profane, and perpetually 
thirsty. To carry a full load, put his boat through in time, 
and always drink up to his peg, were his cardinal principles, 
and he faithfully lived up to them. 


148 


MEs. snrsioNs’s concern. 


Of the fair sex he was a most devoted admirer, and if he 
had not possessed a great deal of modesty, for a steamboat 
captain, he could have named two or three score of young 
women who thought almost as much of him as the worthy 
boarding-house keeper did. 

Good Mrs. Simmons had, to use her own language, 
“ kerried him before the Lord, and wrastled for him but it 
was very evident, from Sam’s walk and conversation, that his 
case had not yet been adjudicated according to Mrs. Sim- 
mons’s liking. 

He still had occasional difficulties with the hat-stand and 
stairway after coming home late at night ; his breath, though 
generally odorous, seemed to grieve Mrs. Simmons’s olfac- 
tories, and his conversation, as heard through his open door 
in Summer, was thickly seasoned with expressions far more 
Scriptural than reverential. 

One Christmas, the old lady presented to the captain a 
handsome Bible, with his name stamped in large gilt letters 
on the cover. He was so delighted and so proud of his 
present, that he straightway wrapped it in many folds of 
paper to prevent its being soiled, and then stowed it neatly 
away in the Queen Ann’s safe, for secure keeping. 

When he told Mrs. Simmons what he had done, she 
sighed deeply ; but fully alive to the importance of the case, 
promised him a common one, not too good to read daily. 

“Daily! Bless you, Mrs. Simmons! Wliy, I hardly 
have time to look in the paper, and see who’s gone up, and 
who’s gone down, and who’s been beat.” 

“But your better part, cap’en?” pleaded the old lady. 

“ I — don’t know, my good woman — hard to find it, I 
guess — the hull lot averages purty low.” 

“ But, cap’en,” she continued, “ don’t you feel your need 
of a change ?” 

“ Not from the Queen Ann, ma’am — she only needs big- 
ger engines ” 

“ Change of heart, I mean, cap’en,” interrupted Mrs. Sim- 
mons. “ Don’t you feel your need of religion ?” 


TOO GOOD FOR SATAN. 


149 


“ Ha ! lia !” roared Captain Sam ; “ the idea of a steam- 
boat captain with religion ! Why, bless j^our dear, innocent, 
old soul, the fust time he wanted to wood up in a hurry, his 
religion would git, quicker’n lightnin’. The only steamboat- 
man I ever knowed in the meetin -house line went up 
for seven year for settin’ fire to his own boat to git the in- 
surance.” 

Mrs. Simmons could not recall at the moment the remem- 
brance of any pious captain, so she ceased laboring with 
Captain Sam. But when he went out, she placed on his 
table a tract, entitled “ The Furnace Seven Times Heated,” 
which tract the captain considerately handed to his engi- 
neer, supposing it to be a circular on intensified caloric. 

Year after year the captain laid up for repairs, and put 
up with Mrs. Simmons. Year after year he was jolly, genial, 
chilvalrous, generous, but — ^not what good Mrs. Simmons 
earnestly wanted him to be. 

He would buy tickets to all the church fairs, give free 
passages to all preachers recommended by Mrs. Simmons, 
and on Sunday morning he would respectfully escort the 
old lady as far as the church-door. 

On one occasion, when Mrs. Simmons’s church building 
was struck by lightning, a deacon dropped in with a sub- 
scription-paper, while the captain was in. The generous 
steamboatman immediately put himself down for fifty dol- 
lars ; and although he improved the occasion to condemn 
severely the meanness of certain holy people, and though 
his language seemed to create an atmosphere which must cer- 
tainly melt the money — ^for those were specie days — Mrs. 
Simmons declared to herself that “ he couldn’t be fur from 
tlie kingdom when his heart was so little set on Mammon as 
that.” 

“He’s too good for Satan — the Lord mtist hev him,” 
thought the good old lady. 

Once again the Queen Ann needed repairing, and again 
the captain found himself at his old boarding-place. 

Good Mrs. Simmons surveyed him tenderly through her 


150 ‘‘p’r’aps you ken use it fur cookin’.” 

glasses, and instantly saw there had something unusual 
happened. Could it be — oh ! if it only could be — that he 
had put off the old man, which is sin ! She longed to ask 
him, yet, with a woman’s natural delicacy, she determined to 
find out without direct questioning. 

“ Good season, cap’en ?” she inquired. 

“A No. 1, ma’am — positively first-class,” replied the 
captain. 

“ Hed good health — no ager ?” she continued. 

“Never was better, my dear woman — healthy right to 
the top notch,” he answered. 

“ It must be,” said good Mrs. Simmons, to herself — “ it 
can’t be nothin’ else. Bless the Lord !” 

This pious sentiment she followed up by a hymn, whose 
irregularities of time and tune were fully atoned for by the 
spirit with which she sung. A knock at the door inter- 
rupted her. 

“ Come in ! ” she cried. 

Captain Sam entered, and laid a good-sized, flat flask on 
the table, saying : 

“ I’ve just been unpackin’, an’ I found this ; p’r’aps you 
ken use it fur cookin’. It’s no use to me ; I’ve sworn off 
drinkin’.” 

And before the astonished lady could say a word, he was 
gone. 

But the good soul could endure the suspense no longer. 
She hurried to the door, and cried : 

“Cap’en!” 

“ That’s me,” answered Captain Sam, returning. 

“ Cap’en,” said Mrs. Simmons, in a voice in which 
solemnity aad excitement struggled for the mastery, “ hez 
the Lord sent His angel unto you ?” 

“ He hez,” replied the captain, in a very decided tone, 
and abruptly turned, and hurried to his own room. 

“Bless the Lord, O my soul!” almost shouted Mrs. Sim- 
mons, in her ecstacy. “ We musn’t worry them that’s weak 
in the faith, but I sha’n’t be satisfied till I hear him tell his 


LIVING IN A STATE OF BLISS. 


151 


experience. Oh, what a blessed thing to relate at prayer- 
meetin’ to-night !” 

There was, indeed, a rattling of dry bones at the prayer- 
meeting that night, for it was the first time in the history of 
the church that the conversion of a steamboat captain had 
been reported. 

On returning home from the meeting, additional proof 
awaited the happy old saint. The captain was in his room 
— in his room at nine o’clock in the evening! She had 
known the captain for years, but he had never before got in 
so early. There could be no doubt about it, though — there 
he was, softly whistling. 

“ I’d rather hear him whistlin’ Windham or Boylston,” 
thought Mrs. Simmons ; “ that tune don’t fit any hymn I 
know. P’r’aps, though, they sing it in some of them 
churches up to Cincinnaty,” she charitably continued. 

“ Cap’en,” said she, at breakfast, next morning, when the 
other guests had departed, ‘‘ is your mind at peace ?” 

“ Peace ?” echoed the captain — “ peaceful as the Ohio 
at low water.” 

The captain’s simile was not so Scriptural as the old lady 
could have desired, but she remembered that he was but a 
young convert, and that holy conversation was a matter of 
gradual attainment. So, simply and piously making the 
best of it, she fervently exclaimed : 

“ That it may ever be thus is my earnest prayer, cap’en.” 

“Amen to that,” said Captain Sam, very heartily, upset- 
ting the chair in his haste to get out of the room. 

For several days Mrs. Simmons lived in a state of bliss 
unknown to boarding-house keepers, whose joys come only 
from a sense of provisions purchased cheaply and paying 
boarders secured. 

From the kitchen, the dining-room, or wherever she was, 
issued sounds of praise and devotion, intoned to some 
familiar church melody. Scrubbing the kitchen -floor 
dampened not her ardor, and even the fateful washing-day 
produced no visible effects on her spirits. From over the 


152 


INSURED AGAINST FLAlitES ETERNAL. 


bread-pan she sent exultant strains to echo through the 
house, and her fists vigorously marked time in the yielding 
dough. From the third-story window, as she hung out the 
bed-linen to air, her holy notes fell on the ears of passing 
teamsters, and caused them to cast wondering glances up- 
ward. What was the heat of the kitchen-stove to her, now 
that Captain Sam was insured against fiames eternal ? What, 
now, was even money, since Captain Sam had laid up his 
treasures above? 

And the captain’s presence, which had always comforted 
her, was now a perpetual blessing. Always pleasant, kind, 
and courteous, as of old, but oh, so different 1 

All the coal-scuttles and water-pails in the house might 
occupy the stairway at night, but the captain could safely 
thread his way among them. 

No longer did she hurry past his door, with her fingers 
ready, at the slightest alarm, to act as compressors to her 
ears ; no, the captain’s language, though not exactly religious, 
was eminently proper. 

He was at home so much evenings, that his lamp con- 
sumed more oil in a week than it used to in months ; but 
the old lady cheerfully refilled it, and complained not that 
the captain’s goodness was costly. 

The captain brought home a book or two daily, and left 
them in his room, seeing which, his self-denying hostess car- 
ried up the two fiights of stairs her own copies of “ Clarke’s 
Commentaries,” “ The Saints’ Best,” “Joy’s Exercises,” and 
“ Morning and Night Watches,” and arranged them neatly 
on his table. 

Finally, after a few days. Captain Sam seemed to ha\ . ^ 
something to say — something which his usual power ol 
speech was scarcely equal to. Mrs. Simmons gave him 
every opportunity. 

At last, when he ejaculated, “ Mrs. Simmons,” just as she 
was carrying her beloved glass preserve-dish to its place in 
the parlor-closet, she was so excited that she dropped the 
brittle treasure, and uttered not a moan over the fragments. 


I’VE BEEN THROUGH IT ALL. 153 

“Mrs. Simmons, I’ve made up my mind to lead an en- 
tirely new life,” said the captain, gravely. 

“ It’s what I’ve been hopin’ fur years an’ years, cap’en,” 
responded the happy old lady. 

“ Hev you, though ? God bless your motherly old soul,” 
said the captain, warmly. “ Well, I’ve turned over a 
leaf, and it don’t git turned back again.” 

“ That’s right,” said Mrs. Simmons, with a happy tear 
under each spectacle-glass. “ Fight the good fight, cap’en.” 

“Just my little game,” continued the captain. “ ’Tain’t 
ev’ry day that a man ken find an angel willin’ to look out 
fur him, Mrs. Simmons.” 

“ An angel ! Oh, cap’en, how richly blessed you hev 
been ! ” sobbed Mrs. Simmons. “ Many’s the one that hez 
prayed all their lives long for the cornin’ of a good sperrit 
to guide ’em.” 

“ Well, Fve got one, sure pop,” continued Captain Sam ; 
“and happy ain’t any kind of a name fur what I be all the 
time now.” 

“ Bless you !” said the good woman, wringing the cap- 
tain’s hand fervidly. “ But you’ll hev times of trouble an’ 
doubt, off an’ on.” 

“Is that so?” asked the captain, thoughtfully. 

“ Yes,” continued Mrs. Simmons ; “ bat don’t be afeard ; 
ev’ry thing’ll come right in the end. I know — I’ve been 
through it all.” 

“ That’s so,” said the captain, “you hev that. Well, now, 
would you^mind interdoosin’ me to your minister ?” 

“Mind !” said the good old lady. “I’ve been a-dyin’ to 
do it ever since you come. I’ve told him about it, and he’s 
ez glad fur you ez I am.” 

“ Oh !” said the captain, looking a little confused, “ you 
suspected it, did you?” 

“From the very minute you fust kem,” replied Mrs. 
Simmons ; “ I know the signs.” 

“ Well,” said the captain, “ might ez well see him fust as 
last then, I reckon.” 


154 : 


**HOW SOON CAN YOU DO THE BUSINESS?’* 


“I’ll get ready right away,” said Mrs. Simmons, 
away she hurried, leaving the captain greatly puzzled. 

The old lady put on her newest bombazine dress — all 
this happened ten years ago, ladies — and a hat to match. 

Never before had these articles of dress been seen by the 
irreligious light of a weekday ; the day seemed fully as holy 
as an ordinary Sabbath. 

They attracted considerable attention, in their good 
clothes and solemn faces, and finally, as they stood on the 
parson’s doorstep, two of the captain’s own deckhands saw 
him, and straightway drank themselves into a state of beastly 
intoxication in trying to decide what the captain could want 
of a preacher. 

The minister entered, cordially greeted Mrs. Simmons, 
and expressed his pleasure at forming the captain’s acquaint- 
ance. 

“ Parson,” said the captain, in trembling accents — “ don’t 
go away, Mrs. Simmons — parson, my good friend here tells 
me you know all about my case ; now the question is, how 
soon c^n you do the business ?” 

The reverend gentleman shivered a little at hearing the 
word “business” applied to holy things, but replied, in ex- 
cellent temper : 

“ The next opportunity will occur on the first Sabbath 
of the coming month, and I shall be truly delighted to 
gather into our fold one whose many worthy qualities have 
been made known to us by our dearly beloved sister Sim- 
mons. And let me further remind you that there is joy in 
heaven over one sinner that repenteth, and that there- 
fore ” 

“Just so, parson,” interrupted the captain, wincing a 
little, and looking exceedingly puzzled — “ just so ; but ain’t 
thar no day but Sunday for a man to be married ” 

“ Married !” ejaculated the minister, looking inquiringly 
at Mrs. Simmons. 

“ Married !” screamed the old lady, staring wildly at the 
captain — “ married ! Oh, what shall I do ? I thought you’d 


A LOYEI.Y EXPERIENCE COMPLETELY ** SPILED'* 155 

experienced a change! And I’ve told everybody about 
it!” 

The captain burst into a laugh, which made the minis- 
ter’s chandeliers rattle, and the holy man himself, seeing 
through the mistake, heartily joined the captain. 

But poor Mrs. Simmons burst into an agony of tears. 

“ My dear, good old friend,” said the captain, tenderly 
putting his arm about her, “ I’m very sorry you have been 
disappointed ; but one thing at a time, you know. When 
you see my angel, you’ll think I’m in a fair way to be an 
angel myself some day, I guess. Annie’s her name — ^Annio 
May — an’ I’ve named the boat after her. Don’t take on so, 
an’ I’ll show you the old boat, new painted, an’ the name 
innie May stuck on wherever there’s a chance.” 

But the good old woman only wrung her hands, and ex- 
claimed : 

“Thar’s a lovely experience completely spiled — com- 
pletely spiled !” 

At length she was quieted and escorted home, and a few 
days afterward appeared, in smiles and the new bombazine, 
at the captain’s wedding. 

The bride, a motherless girl, speedily adopted Mrs. Sim- 
mons as mother, and made many happy hours for the old 
lady ; but that venerable and pious person is frequently 
heard to say to herseK, in periods of thoughtfulness : 

“A lovely experience completely spiled!” 


MISS FEWNE’S LAST CONQUEST. 


H OW many conquests Mabel Fewne bad made since sba 
bad entered society no one was able to tell. Per- 
haps tbe conqueror berself kept some record of tbe bavoo 
sbe bad worked, but if sbe did, no one but berself ever saw 
it. Even sucb of ber rivals as were envious admitted that 
Miss Fewne’s victims could be counted by dozens, while tbe 
men who came under tbe influence of that charming young 
lady were wont, to compute their fellow-sufferers by tbe 
hundred. It mattered not where Miss Fewne spent ber 
time : whether she enjoyed the season in New York or 
Washington, Baltimore or Boston, sbe found that climatic 
surroundings did not in tbe least change the conduct of men 
toward her. In what ber attractions especially consisted, 
ber critics and admirers were not all agreed. Palette, tbe 
artist, who was among her earliest victims, said sbe was tbe 
embodiment of all ideal harmonies ; while old Coupon, who 
at sixty offered ber himself and bis property, declared in 
confldence to another unfortunate that what took him was 
ber solid sense. At least one young man, who thought, him- 
self a poet, fell in love with her for what he called the golden 
foam of her hair ; a theological student went into pious 
ecstasy (and subsequent dejection) over the spiritual light 
of her eyes. The habitual pose of her pretty fingers 
accounted for the awkward attentions of at least a score of 
young men, and the piquancy of her manner attracted, to 
their certain detriment, all the professional beaus who met 
her. And yet, a clear-headed literary Bostonian declared 


LIFE AT SMITHTON. 


157 


tliat she was better read than some of his distinguished 
confreres ; while a member of Congress excused himself for 
monopolizing her for an entire half-hour, at an evening party, 
by saying that Miss JFewne talked politics so sensibly, that 
for the first time in his life he had learned how much he 
himself knew. As for the ladies, some said any one could 
get as much admiration as Mabel Fewne if they could dress 
as expensively ; others said she was so skillful a flirt that 
no man could see through her wily ways; two or three 
inclined to the theory of personal magnetism ; while a few 
brave women said that Mabel was so pretty and tasteful, 
and modest and sensible and sweet, that men would be 
idiots if they didn’t fall in love with her at sight. 

But one season came in which those who envied and 
feared Mabel were left in peace, for that young lady deter- 
mined to spend the Winter with her sister, who was the wife 
of a military officer stationed at Smithton, in the Far Weak 
Smithton was a small town, but a pleasant one ; it had a 
railroad and mines; a government land office was estab- 
lished there, as was the State Government also; trading 
was incessant, money was plenty, so men of wit and culture 
came there to pay their respects to the almighty dollar ; and 
as there were nearly two-score of refined ladies in the town, 
society was delightful to the fullest extent of its existence. 
And Mabel Fewne enjoyed it intensely ; the change of air 
and of scene gave stimulus to her spirits and new grace to her 
form and features, so that she soon had at her feet all the 
unmarried men in Smithton, while many sober Benedicts 
admired as much as they could safely do without transfer- 
ring their allegiance. 

Smithton was not inhabited exclusively by people of 
energy and culture. New settlements, like all other things 
new, powerfully attract incapable^, and Smithton was no 
excuse to the rule. In one' portion of it, yclept “the End,’* 
were gathered many characters more odd than interesting. 
Their local habitations seemed to be the liquor-shops which 
fairly filled that portion of the town. About the doors .of 


1’58 PECULIAEITIES OF THE ^^EmEBS'* 

tliese shops the “ Enders ” -were most frequently seen. If 
one of them chanced to stray into the business street of the 
town, he seemed as greatly confused and troubled as a lost 
boy. In his own quarter, however, and among his own 
kind, the Ender displayed a composure which was simply 
superb. No one could pass through the End by daylight 
without seeing many of the inhabitants thereof leaning 
against fences, trees, buildings, and such other objects as 
could sustain without assistance the weight of the human 
frame. From these points of support the Enders would 
contemplate whatever was transpiring about them, with that 
immobility of countenance which characterizes the finished 
tourist and the North American Indian. There were occa- 
sions when these self-possessed beings assumed erect posi- 
tions and manifested ordinary human interest. One of 
these was the breaking out of a fight between either men 
or animals ; another was the passing of a lady of either 
handsome face or showy dress. So it happened that, when 
pretty, well-dressed Mabel Fewne was enjoying a drive 
with one of her admirers, there was quite a stir among such 
Enders as chanced to see her. The venders of the bever- 
ages for which the Enders spent most of their money 
noticed that, upon that particular afternoon, an unusual pro- 
portion of their customers stood at the bar with no assist- 
ance from the bar itself, that some spirit was manifest in 
their walk and conversation, and yet they were less than 
usual inclined to be quarrelsome. So great was the excite- 
ment caused by Miss Fewne’s appearance, that one Ender 
was heard to ask another who she was — an exhibition of 
curiosity very unusual in that part of the town. Even more : 
One member of that apparently hopeless gang was known 
to wash his face and hands, purchase a suit of cheap — ^but 
new and clean — clothing, and take an eastern-bound train, 
presumably to appear among respectable people he had 
known during some earlier period of his existence. 

On the evening of the next day a delightful little party 
was enjoyed by the well-to-do inhabitants of Smithton. 


TWO SOCIAL GATHERINGS. 


159 


New as was the town, the parlors of Mrs. General Wader 
(her husband was something for the railway company) were 
handsomely furnished, the ladies were elaborately dressed, 
the gentlemen lacked not one of the funereal garments which 
men elsewhere wear to evening parties, and stupid people- 
were noticeably rarer than, in similar social gatherings, in 
older communities. Mabel Fewne was there, and as human 
nature is the same at Smithton as in the East, she was the 
belle of the evening. She entered the room on the arm of 
her brother7in-law, and that warrior’s height, breadth, 
bronzed countenance and severe uniform, made all the more 
striking the figure which, clad apparently in a pale blue 
cloud, edged with silver and crowned Avith gold, floated 
beside him. Men crowded about her at once, and the other 
ladies present had almost undisturbed opportunity in Avliich 
to converse with each other. 

At the End there was likewise a social gathering. The 
place was Drake’s saloon, and the guests were self-invited. 
Their toilets, though unusual, scarcely require description, 
and a list of their diversions would not interest people of 
taste. E-efreshments were as plentiful as at Mrs. Wader’s, 
and, after the manner of refreshments everywhere, they 
caused a general unbending of spirits. Not all the effects 
were pleasing to contemplate. One of them was a pistol- 
shot, which, missing the man for whom it was intended, struck 
a person called Baggs, and remarkable only for general 
worthlessness. Baggs had a physical system of the con- 
ventional type, however, and the bullet caused some disar- 
rangement so radical in its nature, that Baggs was soon 
stretched upon the floor of the saloon, with a face much 
whiter than he usually wore. The barkeeper poured out a 
glass of brandy, and passed it over the bar, but the wounded 
man declined it ; he also rejected a box of pills which was 
proffered. An Ender, who claimed to have been a phy- 
sician, stooped over the victim, felt his pulse, and remarked : 

“Baggs, you’re a goner.” 

“ I know it,” said Baggs ; “ and I want to be prayed for.” 


160 


“NOT THE ETOHT .¥,4 A’” 

TliG barkeepGr looked puzzled. He was a public-spirited 
man, wboser heart and pocket were open to people in real 
trouble, but for prayers he had never been asked before, 
and, was entirely destitute of them. He felt relieved when 
one of his customers — a leaden-visaged man, with bulbous 
nose and a bad temper — advanced toward the wounded 
man, raised one hand, threw his head back a trifle, and 
exclaimed : 

“ Once in grace, always in grace. I’ve been there, I know. 
Let us pray.” 

The victim waived his hand impatiently, and faintly 
exclaimed : 

“ You won’t do ; somebody that’s better acquainted with 
God than you are must do it.” 

“But, Baggs,” reasoned the barkeeper, “perhaps he’s 
been a preacher — ^you’d better not throw away a chance.” 

“Don’t care if he has,” whispered Baggs ; “ he don’t look 
like any of the prayin’ people mother used to know.” 

The would-be petitioner took his rebuff considerably to 
heart, and began, in a low and rapid voice, an argument with 
himself upon the duration of the state of grace. The End- 
ers listened but indifferently, however ; the dying man was 
more interesting to them than living questions, for he had 
no capacity for annoyance. The barkeeper scratched his 
head and pinched his brow, but, gaining no idea thereby, 
he asked: 

“ Do you know the right man, Baggs ?” 

“ Not here, I don’t,” gasped the sufferer ; “ not the right 
man.” 

The emphasis on the last word was not unheeded by the 
bystanders ; they looked at each other with as much aston- 
ishment as Enders were capable of displaying, and thrust 
their hands deep into the pockets of their pantaloons, in 
token of their inability to handle the case. Baggs spoke 
again. 

“1 wish mother was here!” he said. SMd know jUst 
what to say and how to say it” 


AN ENBEB'' ASKS TO SEE MISS FEWNE. 161 

‘‘She’s too far away; leastways, I suppose she is,V said 
the barkeeper. 

“ I know it,” whispered the wounded man ; “ an’ yet a 
woman ” 

Baggs looked inquiringly, appealingly about him, but 
seemed unable to finish his sentence. His glance finally 
rested upon Brownie, a man as characteristic as himself, but 
at times displaying rather more heart than was common 
among Enders. Brownie obeyed the summons, and stooped 
beside Baggs. The bystanders noticed that there followed 
some whispering, at times shame-faced, and then in the 
agony of earnestness on the part of Baggs, and replied to 
by Brownie with averted face and eyes gazing into nowhere. 

Finally Brownie arose with an un-Ender-like decision, 
and left the saloon. No one else said much, but there seemed 
to circulate an impression that Baggs was consuming more 
time than was customary at the End. 

Yery different was the scene in Mrs. Wader’s parlor ; 
instead of a dying man surrounded by uncouth beings, there 
stood a beautiful woman, radiant with health and anima- 
tion ; while about her stood a throng of well-dressed gentle- 
men, some of them handsome, all of them smart, and each 
one craving a smile, a word, or a look. Suddenly the pomp- 
ous voice of General Wader arose : 

“ Most astonishing thing I ever heard of,” said he. “ An 
Ender has the impudence to ask to see Miss Fewne !” 

“An Ender?” exclaimed the lady, her pretty lips parting 
with surprise. 

“ Yes, and he declares you could not have the heart to 
say no, if you knew his story.” 

“ Is it possible. Miss Fewne,” asked one admirer, “ that 
your cruelty can have driven any one to have become an 
Ender?” 

Mabel’s eyes seemed to glance inward, and she made no 
reply. She honestly believed she had never knowingly 
encouraged a man to become her victim ; yet she had heard 
of men doing very silly things when they thought them- 


162 


APOLOGY IN ORDER. 


selves disappointed in love. She cast a look of timid 
inquiry at her host. 

“ Oh, perfectly safe, if you like,” said the general. “ The 
fellow is at the door, and several of our guests are in the 
hall.” 

Miss Fewne looked serious, and hurried to the door. 
She saw a man in shabby clothing and with unkempt beard 
and hair,* yet with a not unpleasing expression. 

“ Madame,” said he, “ I’m a loafer, but I’ve been a gen- 
tleman, and I know better than to intrude without a good 
cause. The cause is a dying man. He’s as rough and worth- 
less as I am, but all the roughness has gone out of him, just 
now, and he’s thinking about his mother and a sweetheart 
he used to have. He wants some one to pray for him — 
some one as unlike himself and his associates as possible. 
He cried for his mother — then he whispered to me that he 
had seen, here in Smithton, a lady that looked like an angel 
— seen her driving ^only to-day. He meant ‘you. He isn’t 
pretty ; but, when a dying man says a lady is an angel, he 
means what he says.” 

Two or three moments later Miss Fewne, with a very 
pale face, and with her brother-in-law as escort, was follow- 
ing Brownie. The door of the saloon was thrown open, 
and when the Enders saw who was following Brownie they 
cowered and fell back as if a sheriff with his posse had 
appeared. The lady looked quickly about her, until her 
eye rested upon the figure of the wounded man ; him she 
approached, and as she looked down her lip began to trem- 
ble. 

“ I didn’t mean it,” whispered Baggs, self-depreciation 
and pain striving for the possession of his face. “If I 
hadn’t have been a-goin’, I shouldn’t have thought of such 
a thing, but dyin’ takes away one’s reg’lar senses. It’s not 
my fault, ma’am, but when I thought about what mother 
used to say about heaven, you came into my mind. I felt 
as if I was insultin’ you just by thinkin’ about you — a feller 
such as me to bo thinking about such a lady. I tried to see 


103 


“god can^t refuse you!' 

mother an’ Liz, my sweetheart that was, just as I’ve seen 
’em when my eyes was shut, but I couldn’t see nothin’ but 
you, the way you looked goin’ along that road and makin’ 
the End look bright. I’d shoot myself for the imperdence 
of the thing if I was goin’ to get well again, but I ain’t. 
Ther needs to be a word said for me by somebody — some- 
body that don’t chaw, nor drink, nor swear — somebody that 
’ll catch God’s eye if He happens to be lookin’ down — and 
I never saw that kind of a person in Smithton till to-day.” 

Mabel stood speechless, with a tear in each eye. 

“ Don’t, if you don’t think best,” continued Baggs. “ I’d 
rather go to — to t’other place than bother a lady. Don’t 
speak a word, if you don’t want to ; but mebbe you’ll think 
the least thing ? God can't refuse you. But if you think 
t’other place is best for me, all right.” 

The fright, the sense of strangeness, were slowly depart- 
ing from Mabel, and as she recovered herself her heart 
seemed to come into her face and eyes. 

“Ev’rybody about here is rough, or dirty, or mean, or 
rich, or proud, or somethin’,” continued the dying man, in 
a thin yet earnest voice. “ It’s all as good as I deserve ; 
but my heart’s ached sometimes to look at somebody that 
would keep me from b’leevin’ that ev’rything was black an’ 
awful. And I’ve seen her. Can I just touch my finger to 
your dress ? I’ve heard mother read how that somebody iu 
the Old Country was once made all right by just touchin’ 
the clothes Christ had on.” 

In his earnestness, the wretched man had raised himself 
upon one elbow, and out of his face had departed every 
expression but one of pitiful pleading. Still Mabel could 
not speak ; but, bending slightly forward, she extended one 
of her slender, dainty hands toward the one which Baggs 
had raised in his appeal. 

“ White — shining — good — all right,” he murmured. Then 
all of Baggs which fell back upon the floor was clay. 

^ 5 - * * * * * 

With the prudence of a conqueror, who knows when the 


164 


CONQUESTS AT AN END. 


full extent of liis powers lias been reached, Mabel Fewne 
married within six months. _ The happy man was not a new 
conquest, but an old victim, who was willfully pardoned with 
such skill, that he never doubted that his acceptance to 
favor was the result of the renewal of his homage. 



MABKSON’S HOUSE. 


R aines is my name — Josepli Eaines. I am a house- 
builder by profession, and as I do not often see my 
writings in print, except as prepaid advertisements, I con- 
sider this a good opportunity to say to the public in general 
that I can build as good a house for a given sum of money 
as any other builder, and that I am a square man to deal 
with. I am aware of the fact that both of these assertions 
have been made by many other persons about themselves ; 
but to prove their trustworthiness when uttered by me, the 
public needs only to give me a trial. (In justice to other 
builders, I must admit they can use even this last statement 
of mine with perfect safety for the present, and with pro-* 
spective profit if they, get a contract to build a house.) 

I suppose it will be considered very presumptuous in me 
to attempt to write a story, for, while some professions seem 
relatives of literature, I freely admit that there is no carpen- 
ter’s tool which prepares one to handle a pen. To be sure, 
I have read some stories which, it seemed to me, could have 
been improved by the judicious use of a handsaw, had that 
extremely radical tool been able to work aesthetically as it 
does practically ; and while I have read certain other 
stories, and essays, and poems, I have been tormented by an 
intense desire to apply to them a smoothing-plane, a pair of 
compasses, or a square, or even to so far interfere with their 
arrangement as to cut a window-hole or two, and an occa- 
sional ventilator. Still, admitting that the carpenter should 
stick to his bench — or to his office or carriage, if he is a 


160 


WHY / WKOTE THIS STOEY. 


master builder, as I am — must yet insist that there are 
occasions when a man is absolutely compelled to handle 
tools to which he is not accustomed. Doctor Buzzle, my 
own revered pastor, established this principle firmly in my 
mind one day by means of a mild rebuke, administered on 
the occasion of my volunteering to repair some old chairs 
which had come down to him through several generations. 
The doctor was at work upon them himself, and although 
he seemed to regard the very chips and sawdust — even such 
as found a way into his eyes — with a reverent affection, he 
was certainly ruining good material in a shocking manner. 
But when I proffered my assistance, he replied : 

“ Thank you, Joseph ; but — they wouldn’t be the same 
chairs if any one else touched them.” 

I feel similarly about the matter of my story — ^perhaps 
you will understand why as you read it. 

When I had finished my apprenticeship, people seemed 
to like me, and some of our principal men advised me to 
stay at Bartley, my native village — it was so near the city, 
they said, and would soon fill up with city people, who 
would want villas and cottages built. So I staid, and be- 
tween small jobs of repairing, and contracts to build fences, 
stables and carriage-houses, I managed to keep myself busy, 
and to save a little money after I had paid my bills. 

One day it was understood that a gentleman from the 
city had bought a villa site overlooking the town, and in- 
tended to build very soon. I immediately wrote him a note, 
saying I would be glad to see his plans and make an esti- 
mate ; and in the course of time the plans were sent me, and 
I am happy to say that I under-estimated every one, even my 
own old employer. 

Then the gentleman — Markson his name was — drove out 
CO see me, and he put me through a severe course of ques- 
tions, until I wondered if he was not some distinguished 
architect. But he wasn’t — he was a shipping-merchant. It’s 
certainly astonishing how smart some of those city fellows 
are about everything. 


HOUSE-BUILDING AS A THEME. 


167 


The upshot was, he gave me the contract, and a very 
pretty one it was : ten thousand three hundred and forty 
dollars. To be sure, he made me alter the specifications so 
that the sills should be of stuff ten inches square, instead 
of the thin stuff we usually use for the sills of balloon-frame 
houses, such as his was to be ; and though the alteration 
would add quite ^ few dollars, to the cost of materials, I did 
not dare to add a cent to my estimate, for fear of losing the 
contract. Besides — though, of course, I did not intend to 
do so dishonorable a thing — I knew that I could easily make 
up the difference by using cheap paint instead of good Eng- 
lish lead for priming, or in either one of a dozen other ways ; 
builders have such tricks, just as ministers and manufac- 
turers and railroadmen do. 

I felt considerably stuck up at getting Markson’s house 
to build, and my friends said I had a perfect right to feel so, 
for no house so costly had been built at Bartley for several 
years. 

So anxious were my friends that I should make a first- 
class job of it, that they all dropped in to discuss the plan 
with me, and to give me some advice, until — thanks to their 
thoughtful kindness — my head would have been in a muddle 
had the contemplated structure been a cheap barn instead 
of a costly villa. 

But, by a careful review of the original plan every night 
after my friends departed, and a thoughtful study of it each 
morning before going to work, I succeeded in completing it 
according to the ideas of the only two persons really con- 
cerned — I refer to Mr. Marks on and myself. 

Admitting in advance that there is in the house-building 
business very little that teaches a man to be a literary 
critic, I must nevertheless say that many poets of ancient 
and modern times might have found the building of a house 
a far more inspiring theme than some upon which they 
have written, and even a more respectable one than cer- 
tain others which some distinguished rhymers have unfor- 
tunately selected. 


168 


MOBAUZING ON HOUSE-BUILDING. 


I have always wondered why, after Mr. Longfellow wrote 
“ The Building of a Ship,” some one did not exercise his 
muse upon a house. I never attempted poetry myself, ex- 
cept upon my first baby, and even those verses I transcribed 
with my left hand, so they might hot betray me to the 
editor of the Bartley Conservator^ to whom I sent them, and 
by whom they were published. 

I say I never attempted poetry-writing save once ; but 
sometimes when I am working on a house, and think of all 
that must transpire within it — of the precious ones who will 
escape, no matter how strongly I build the walls; of the 
destroyer who will get in, in spite of the improved locks I 
put on all my houses ; of the darkness which cannot at 
times be dispelled, no matter how large the windows, nor 
how perfect the glass may be (I am very particular about the 
glass I put in) ; of the occasional joys which seem meet for 
heavenly mansions not built by contract; of the unseen 
heroisms greater than any that men have ever cheered, and 
the conquests in comparison with which the achievements 
of mighty kings are only as splintery hemlock to Georgia 
pine — when I think of all this, I am so lifted above all that 
is prosaic and matter-of-fact, that I am likely even to forget 
that I am working by contract instead of by the day. 

Besides, Markson’s house was my first job on a residence, 
and it was a large one, and I was young, and full of what I 
fancied were original ideas of taste and effect ; and as I was 
unmarried, and without any special lady friend, I was com- 
pletely absorbed in Markson’s house. 

How it would look when it was finished ; what views it 
would command ; whether its architectural style was not 
rather subdued, considering the picturesque old hemlocks 
which stood near by ; what particular shade of color would 
be effective alike to the distant observer and to those who 
stood close by when the light reached it only through the 
green of the hemlock ; just what color and blending of slate 
to select, so the steep-pitched roof should not impart a 
sombre effect to the whole house ; how much money I would 


INSPECTING THE SILLS. 


169 


make on it (for this is a matter of utter uncertainty until 
your work is done, and you know what you’ve paid out and 
what you get) ; whether Markson could influjsnce his friends 
in my favor ; what sort of a family he had, and whether they 
were worthy of the extra pains I was taking on their house 
— these and a thousand other wonderings and reveries kept 
possession of my mind; while the natural pride and hope 
and confidence of a young man turned to sweet music the 
sound of saw and hammer and trowel, and even translated 
the rustling of pine shavings with hopeful whispers. 

The foundations had been laid, and the sills placed in 
position, and I was expecting to go on with the work as 
soon as Markson himself had inspected the sills — this, he 
said, he wished to do before anything further was done ; and, 
so that he might not have any fault to find with them, I had 
them sawn to order, and made half an inch larger each way, 
so they couldn’t possibly shrink before he could measure 
them. 

The night before he was to come up and examine them, 
I was struck at the supper-table by the idea that perhaps, 
from one of the western chamber- windows, there might be 
seen the river which lay, between the hills, a couple of 
miles beyond. As the moon was up and full, I could 
not rest until I had ascertained whether I was right 
or wrong ; so I put a twenty-foot tapeline in my pocket, and 
hurried off to the hill where the house was to stand. 

Foundation three feet, height of parlor ceilings twelve 
feet, allow for floors two feet more, made the chamber-floor 
seventeen feet above the level of the ground. 

Climbing one of the hemlocks which I thought must be 
in line with the river and the window, I dropped my line 
until I had unrolled seventeen feet, and then ascended until 
the end of the line just touched the ground. I found I was 
right in my supposition ; and in the clear, mellow light of 
the moon the river, the hills and valleys, woods, fields, 
orchards, houses and rocks (the latter ugly enough by day- 
light, and utterly useless for building purposes) made a 


170 


TEE MIDNIGHT YISITOR. 


picture which set me thinking of a great many exquisite 
things entirely out of the housebuilding line. 

I might have stared till the moon went down, for when 
I’ve nothing else to do I dearly enjoy dreaming with my 
eyes open ; but I heard a rustling in the leaves a little way 
off, and then I heard footsteps, and then, looking downward, 
I saw a man come up the path, and stop under the tree in 
which I was. 

Of course I wondered what he wanted ; I should have 
done so, even if I had had no business there myself ; but 
under the circumstances, I became very much excited. 

Who could it be ? Perhaps some rival builder, come to 
take revenge by setting my lumber afire ! I would go down 
and reason with him. But, wait a moment ; if he has come 
for that purpose, he may make things uncomfortable for me 
before I reach the ground. And if he sets the lumber afire, 
and it catches the tree I am in, as it will certainly do, I will 
be 

There is no knowing what sort of a quandary I might 
not have got into if the man had not stepped out into the 
moonlight, and up on the sills, and shown himself to be 
—Mr. Markson. 

“Well,” I thought, “you are the most particular man I 
ever knew — and the most anxious ! I don’t know, though — 
it’s natural enough ; if I can’t keep away from this house, 
it’s not strange that he should want to see all of it he can. 
It’s natural enough, and it does him credit.” 

But Mr. Markson’ s next action was neither natural nor 
to his credit. He took off his traveling shawl, and disclosed 
a carpenter’s brace ; this and the shawl he laid on the 
ground, and then he examined the sills at the corners, where 
they were joined. 

They were only half joined, as we say in the trade — ^that 
is, the ends of each piece of timber were sawn half through 
and the partially detached portions cut out, so that the 
ends lapped over each other. 

Well, Mr. Markson hastily stacked up bricks and boards 


A STRANGE PROCEDURE. 


171 


to the height of the foundation, and tlien made a similar 
stack at the other end of the foundation-wall, and then he 
rolled one of the sills over on these two supports, so it was 
bottom side up. Then he fitted a bit — a good wide one, an 
inch and a quarter, at least, I should say — to the brace, and 
then commenced boring a hole in the sill. 

I was astonished, but not too much so to be angry. That 
piece of timber was mine ; Mr. Markson had not paid me a 
cent yet, and was not to do so until the next morning, after 
examining the foundations and sills. 

I had heard of such tricks before ; my old employer had 
had men secretly injure a building, so as to claim it was not 
built according to contract when the money came due, but 
none of them did it so early in the course of the business. 

Within a few seconds my opinion of Mr. Markson’s 
smartness altered greatly, and so did my opinion of human 
nature in general. I would have sadly, but promptly sold out 
my contract with Mr. Markson for the price of a ticket for 
the West, and I should have taken the first train. 

As he bored that hole I could see just how all the other 
builders in town would look when I had to take the law on 
Markson, and how all my friends would come and tell me I 
ought to have insisted on a payment in advance. 

But, after several sorrowful moments had elapsed, I 
commenced to think, and I soon made up my mind what I 
would do. I would not descend from the tree while he was 
there — have too much respect for my person to put it at 
the mercy of an ill-disposed individual. But as soon as he 
left the pl^/ce, I would hasten to the ground, follow him, and 
demand an explanation. He might be armed, but I was, 
too — there were hard characters at Bartley, and they knew 
my pocket-book was sometimes full. 

Hole after hole that man bored; he made one join 
another until he had a string of them ten inches long, or 
thereabouts ; then he began another string, right beside the 
first, and then another. 

I saw that his bit went but six or seven inches deep, so 


172 


THE HIDDEN PACKAGE. 


tliat it did not pierce the sill, and I could almost believe 
him in league with some rival builder to ruin my reputation 
by turning over, next morning, a log apparently sound, and 
showing it to be full of holes. 

I didn’t feel any better-natured, either, when I noticed 
that he had carefully put a newspaper under where he was 
boring to catch all the chips, and destroy any idea of the 
mischief having been done wilfully and on the spot ; but I 
determined I would follow him, and secure that paper of 
chips as evidence. 

Suddenly he stopped boring, and took a chisel from 
somewhere about his clothes, and he soon chiseled that 
honeycombed spot into a single hole, about five inches by 
ten, and six or seven inches deep. 

It slowly dawned over me that perhaps his purpose 
wasn’t malicious, after all ; and by the time I had reasoned 
the matter he helped me to a conclusion by taking from 
his pocke-t a little flat package, which he put into the hole. 

It looked as if it might be papers, or something the size 
of folded papers ; but it was wrapped in something yellow 
and shiny — oil skin, probably, to keep it from the damp. 
Then he drove a few little nails inside the holes to keep 
the package from falling out when the sill was turned over ; 
and then he did something which I never saw mixed with 
carpenter-work in my life — he stooped and kissed the pack- 
age as it lay in the hole, and then he knelt on the ground 
beside the sill, and I could see by his face upturned in the 
moonlight, showing his closed eyes and moving lips, that he 
was praying. ' 

'Up to that moment I had been tjurious to know what was 
in that package ; but after what I saw then, I never thought 
of it without wanting to utter a small prayer myself, though 
I never could decide what would be the appropriate thing to 
say, seeing I knew none of the circumstances. I am very 
particular not to give recommendations except where I am 
very sure the person I recommend is all right. 

Well, Markson disappeared a moment or two after, first 


HELEN, THE DAUGHTER. 


173 


carefully replacing the sill, and carrying away the chips, and 
I got out of my tree, forgetting all about the view I had dis- 
covered ; and the unexpected scene I had looked at ran in my 
mind so constantly that, during the night, I dreamed that 
Markson stood in the hemlock-tree, with a gigantic brace 
and bit, and bored holes in the hills beside the river, while 
I kneeled in the second story window-frame, and kissed my 
contract with Markson, and prayed that I might make a 
hundred thousand dollars out of it. It is perfectly astonish- 
ing what things a sensible man will sometimes dream. 

Next morning I arrived at the building a few minutes 
before seven, and found Markson there before me. He ex- 
pressed himself satisfied with everything, and paid me then 
and there a thousand dollars, which was due on acceptance 
of the work as far as then completed. 

He hung around all day while we put up the post and 
studding — ^probably to see that the sill was not turned over 
and his secret disclosed ; and it was with this idea that I 
set the studding first on his particular sill. By night we 
had the frame so near up, that there was no possibility of 
the sill being moved ; and then Markson went away. 

He came up often, after that, to see how his house was 
getting along. Each time he came he would saunter around 
to that particular sill, and when I noticed that he did this, 
I made some excuse to call the men away from that side of 
the house. 

Sometimes he brought his family with him, and I 
scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry ; for, while his 
daughter, a handsome, strong, bright, honest, golden-haired • 
girl of fifteen or sixteen, always affected me as if she was 
a streak of sunshine, and made me hope I should some day 
have a daughter like her, his wife always affected me un- 
pleasantly. 

I am not a good physiognomist, but I notice most peo- 
ple resemble animals of some sort, and when I decide on 
what animal it is, in any particular case, I judge the person 
accordingly. 


174 


WHAT THE NEIGHBORS KNOW. 


Kow, Mrs. Markson — ^who was evidently lier husband’s 
second wife, for she was too young to be Helen’s mother — 
was rather handsome and extremely elegant, but neither 
manners nor dress could hide a certain tigerish expression 
which was always in her face. It was generally inactive, but 
it was never absent, and the rapidity with which it awoke 
once or twice when she disapproved something which was 
done or said, made me understand why Mr. Markson, who 
always seemed pleasant and genial with any one else, was 
quite silent and guarded when his wife was with him. 

Pretty soon the people of Bartley knew all about the 
Marksons. How people learn all about other people is 
more than I can explain. I never have a chance to know 
ail about my neighbors, for I am kept busy in looking 
to myself ;• but if all the energy that is devoted to other 
people’s business in Bartley were expended on house-build- 
ing, trade would soon be so dull that I should be longing 
for a mansion in the skies. 

Everybody in Bartley knew that Helen Markson’s 
mother, who was very beautiful and lovable, had died years 
before, and that her stepmother had been Mrs. Markson 
only two or three years ; that the second Mrs. Markson had 
married for money, and that her husband was afraid of her, 
and would run away from her if it wasn’t for Helen ; that 
Mrs. Markson sometimes got angry, and then she raved 
like mad, and that it was wearing Mr. Markson’s life 
away; for he was a tender-hearted man, in spite of his 
smartness. Some even declared that Markson had willed 
her all his property, and insured his life heavily for her be- 
, sides, and that if he died before Helen was married, Helen 
would be a beggar. 

But none of these things had anything to do with my 
contract. I worked away and had good weather, so I lost no 
time, and at the end of five months I had finished the house, 
been paid for it, had paid my bills, and made a clear two 
' thousand dollars on the job. I could have made a thousand 
more, without any one being the wiser for it, but I don’t 


MAP.KRON SENDS EOH ME. 


175 


build houses in that way — the public will greatly oblige me 
by cutting this out. This money gave me a handsome 
business start, and having had no serious losses, nor any 
houses thrown back upon my hands — (for I always make it 
a point to do a little better than I promise, so folks can’t 
find fault) — I am now quite well off, and building houses on 
my O’yn account, to sell ; while some of my competitors, who 
started before I did, have been through bankruptcy, while 
some have been too poor to do even that. 

A few years after building Markson’s house, I went with 
a Southern friend into a black-walnut speculation. We 
bought land in the Southwest, cut the timber, got it to mar- 
ket, and made a handsome profit, I am glad to say. This 
business took me away from home, and kept me for months, 
but, as I was still without family ties, I did not suffer much 
during my absence. Still the old village seemed to take on 
a kind of motherly air as the stage, with me in it, rattled 
into town, and I was just dropping into a pleasant little 
reverie, when a carriage, which I recognized as Markson’s, 
dashed down the road, met us, and stopped, while the coach- 
man shouted : 

“ Baines’s foreman says the old man’s coming home to- 
day.” 

He meant me. 

“Beckon his head was purty level,” replied the stage- 
driver, tossing his head backward toward me. 

“ Mr. Baines,” said the coachman, recognizing me, “ Mr. 
Markson is awful sick — like to die any minute — an’ he wants 
to see you right away — wishes you wouldn’t wait for any- 
thing.” . 

What to make of it I didn’t know, and said so, upon 
which the stage-driver rather pettishly suggested that 
’twouldn’t take long to find out if I got behind Markson’s 
team ; and, as I agreed with him, I changed conveyances, 
and was soon at Markson’s house. 

Helen met me at the door, and led me immediately to 
Markson’s chamber. The distance from the door of his 


17G 


A DYING man’s LAST REQUEST. 


room to tlie side of his bed couldn’t have been more than 
twenty feet, yet, in passing over it, it seemed to me that I 
imagined at least fifty reasons why the sick man had sent 
for me, but not one of the fifty was either sensible or satis- 
factory. 

I was even foolish enough to imagine Markson’s con- 
science was troubled, and that he was going to pay me some 
money which he justly owed me, whereas he had paid me 
every cent, according to contract. 

We reached his bedside before I had determined what it 
could be. Helen took his hand, and said : 

“ Father, here is Mr. Eaines.” 

Markson, who was lying motionless, with his face to the 
wall, turned quickly over and grasped my hand and beck- 
oned me closer. I put my head down, and he whispered : 

“ I’m glad you’ve come ; I want to ask you a favor — a 
dying man’s last request. You’re an honest man (N. B. — 
People intending to build will please make a note of this. — 
J. E.), I am sure, and I want you to help me do justice. You 
have seen my wife ; she can be a tiger when she wants to. 
She married me for money ; she thinks the v/ill I made some 
time ago, leaving everything to her, is my last. But it is 
not. I’ve deceived her, for the sake of peace. I made one 
since, leaving the bulk of my property to Helen ; it came 
to me through her dear mother. I know nobody to- trust it 
with. Mrs. Markson can wrap almost any one around her 
finger when she tries, and ” 

His breath began to fail, and the entrance of his wife did 
not seem to strengthen him any ; but he finally regained it, 
and continued : 

“ She will try it with you ; but you are cool as well as 
honest, I believe. I meant to tell Helen where the will was 
the day after I put it there ; but she was so young — it seemed 
dreadful to let her know how cowardly her father was — how 
he feared her. Get it — get a good lawyer — see she has her 
rights. I put it — no one could suspect where — I put it — 
in — ^the ” 


THE widow’s pleasant SMILE. 


177 


His breath failed him entirely, and he fixed his eyes on 
mine with an agonized expression which makes me shiver 
whenever I think of it. Suddenly his strange operation 
with that sill, of which I had not thought for a long time, 
came into my mind, and I whispered, quickly : 

“ In the sill of the house ?” 

His expression instantly changed to a very happy one, 
and yet he looked wonderstruck, which was natural enough. 

“ I saw you put it there,” said I. “ But,” I continued, 
fearing the dying man might suspect me of spying, and so 
fear he had mistaken my character — “ but I did not mean 

to I was on the ground when you came there that 

evening ; and when I saw what you were doing, I could not 
move for fear of disturbing you. I know where to find it, 
and I can swear you put it there.” 

Markson closed his eyes, and never opened them again ; 
and his last act, before going out of the world, was to give 
my hand a squeeze, which, under the circumstances, I could 
hot help believing was an honest one. 

As his hand relaxed, I felt that I had better give place 
to those who had a right to it, so I quietly retired. Helen 
fell on her knees by his bedside, but Mrs. Markson followed 
me out of the room. 

“ Mr. Eaines,” said she, with a very pleasant smile for a 
woman widowed but a moment before, “ what did my dear 
husband want ?” 

Now, I am an honest man and a Church-member — and I 
was one then, and believed in truth and straightforwardness 
just as much as I do now — but, somehow, when such a per- 
son speaks to me, I feel as if I were all of a sudden a velvet- 
pawed cat myself. So I answered, with the straightest of 
faces : 

“ Only to see to one of the sills of the house, ma’am, 
and he made me solemnly swear to do it right away. He 
was an extraordinary man, ma’am, to think of the good of 
his family up to the last moment.” 

“Ah, yes, dear man!” said she, with a sigh which her 


178 


REPAIKS DONE DURING THE FUNERAL. 


face plainly sliowed came from nowhere deeper than her 
lips. “ I hope it won’t take long, though,” she continued, 
“ for I can’t endure noise in the house.” 

“ Not more than an hour,” I replied. 

“ Oh, I’m glad to hear it !” said she. “ Perhaps, then, 
you might do it while we are at the funeral, day after to-mor- 
row? We will be gone at least two hours.” 

“ Easily, ma’am,” said I, with my heart in my mouth at 
the idea of managing the matter so soon, and having the 
papers for Helen as soon as, in any sort of decency, Mrs. 
Markson would be likely to have the old will read. 

For the rest of the day I was so absent-minded to every- 
thing except this business of Markson’s that my acquaint- 
ances remarked that, considering how long I had been gone, 
I didn’t seem very glad to see any one. 

Finally I went to old Judge Bardlow, who was as true as 
steel, and told him the whole story, and he advised me to 
get the papers, and give them to him to examine. So, on 
the day of the funeral, I entered the house with a mallet 
and a mortizing chisel, and within fifteen minutes I had in 
my pocket the package Markson had put in the sill years 
before, and was hurrying to the judge’s office. 

He informed me that Mrs. Markson’s lawyer, from the 
city, had called on him that very morning, and invited him 
to be present at the reading of the will in the afternoon, so 
he would be able to putlihings in proper shape at once. 

I was more nervous all that day than I ever was in wait- 
ing to hear from an estimate. It was none of my business, 
to be sure ; but I longed to see Mrs. Markson punished for 
the mischief which I and every one else believed she had 
done her husband ; and I longed to see Helen, whom every 
one liked, triumph over her stepmother, who, still young 
and gay, was awfully jealous of Helen’s beauty and general 
attractiveness. 

Finally the long day wore away, and an hour or two after 
the carriages returned from the funeral, the city lawyer called 
for the judge, and, at the judge’s suggestion, they both called 
for me. 


BEADING THE WILL. 


179 


We found Mrs. Markson and Helen, with some of Mrs. 
Markson’s relatives — Helen had not one in the world — in 
the parlor, Mrs. Markson looking extremely pretty in her 
neat-fitting suit of black, and Helen looking extremely dis- 
consolate. 

The judge, in a courtly, old-fashioned way, but with a 
good deal of heart for all that, expressed his sympathy for 
Helen, and I tried to say a kind word to her myself. To be 
sure, it was all praise of her father, whom I really respected 
very highly (aside from my having had my first contract 
from him), but she was large-hearted enough to like it all 
the better for that. I was still speaking to her when Mrs. 
Markson’s lawyer announced that he would read the last 
will and testament of the deceased ; so, when she sat down 
on a sofa, I took a seat beside her. 

The document was very brief. He left Helen the inter- 
est of twenty thousand dollars a year, the same to cease if 
she married ; all th6 rest of the property he left to his wife. 
As the lawyer concluded, Helen’s face put on an expression 
of wonder and grief, succeeded by one of utter loneliness ; 
while from Mrs. Markson’s eyes there flashed an exultant 
look that had so much of malignity in it that it made me 
understand the nature of Satan a great deal more clearly 
than any sermon ever made me do. Poor Helen tried to 
meet it with fearlessness and dignity, but she seemed to feel 
as if even her father had abandoned her, and she dropped 
her head and burst into tears. 

I know it wasn’t the thing to do before company, but I 
took her hand and called her a poor girl, and begged her to 
keep a good heart, and trust that her father loved her truly, 
and that her wrongs would be righted at the proper time. 

Being kind to my fellow-creatures is the biggest part of 
my religion, for it’s the part of religion I understand best ; 
but even if I had been a heathen, I couldn’t have helped 
wishing well to a noble, handsome woman like Helen Mark- 
son. I tried to speak in a very low tone, but Mrs. Markson 
seemed to understand what I said, for she favored me with 
a look more malevolent than any I had ever received from 


180 


A SECOND WILL. 


my most impecunious debtor; tbe natural effect was to 
wake up all the old Adam there was in me, and to make mo 
long for what was coming. 

“ May I ask the date of that will ?” asked Judge Bardlow. 

“ Certainly, sir,” replied Mrs. Markson’s lawyer, handing 
the document to the judge. The judge looked at the date, 
handed the will back to the lawyer, and drew from his 
pocket an envelope. 

“ Here is a will made by Mr. Markson,” said the judge, 
“and dated three months later.” 

Mrs. Markson started ; her eyes flashed with a sort of 
fire which I hope I may never see again, and she caught her 
lower lip up between her teeth. The judge read the docu- 
ment as calmly as if it had been a mere supervisor’s notice, 
whereas it was different to the first will in every respect, for 
it gave to Helen all of his property, of every description, 
on condition that she paid to Mrs. Markson yearly the inter- 
est of twenty thousand dollars until 'death or marriage, 
“this being the amount,” as the will said, “that she assured 
me would be amply sufiicient for my daughter under like 
circumstances.” 

As the judge ceased reading, and folded the document, 
Mrs. Markson sprang at him as if she were a wild beast. 

“ Give it to me !” she screamed — hissed, rather ; “ ’tis a 
vile, hateful forgery!” 

“ Madame,” said the judge, hastily putting the will in his 
pocket, and taking off his glasses, “ that is a matter which 
the law wisely provides shall not be decided by interested 
parties. When I present it for probate ” 

“ I’ll SreaAj it 1” interrupted Mrs. Markson, glaring, as my 
family cat does when a mouse is too quick for her. 

Mrs. Markson’s lawyer asked permission to look at the 
newer will, which the judge granted. He looked carefully 
at the signature of Markson and the witnesses, and returned 
the document with a sigh. 

“ Don’t attempt it, madame — no use,” said he. “ I know 
all the signatures ; seen them a hundred times. I’m sorry, 


markson’s house vacated. 


181 


very — affects m7j pocket some, for it cuts some of my pros- 
pective fees, but — that will can’t be broken.” 

Mrs. Markson turned, looked at Helen a second, and 
then dashed at her, as if “ to scatter, tear and slay,” as the 
old funeral hymn says. Helen stumbled and cowered a 
little toward me, seeing which I — how on earth I came to 
do it I don’t know — put my arm around her, and looked 
indignantly at Mrs. Markson. 

“ You treacherous hussy !” said Mrs. Markson, stamping 
her foot — “ you scheming little minx ! I could kill you ! I 
could tear you to pieces ! I could drink your very heart’s 
blood— I could ” 

What else she could do she was prevented from telling, 
for she fell into a fit, and was carried out rigid and foaming 
at the mouth. 

I am generally sorry to see even wicked people suffer, but 
I wasn’t a bit sorry to see Mrs. Markson ; for, while she was 
talking, poor Helen trembled so violently that it seemed to 
me she would be scared to death if her cruel stepmother 
talked much longer. 

Two hours later Mrs. Markson, with all her relatives and 
personal effects, left the house, and six months afterward 
Mrs. Markson entrapped some other rich man into marrying 
her. She never tried to break Marston’s will. 

As Helen vras utterly ignorant of the existence of this 
new will until she heard it read, the judge explained to her 
where it came from ; and as she was naturally anxious for 
all the particulars of its discovery, the judge sent me to her 
to tell her the whole story. So I dressed myself and drove 
down — for, though still under thirty, I was well off, and 
drove my own span — and told her of my interview with her 
father, on his deathbed, as well as of the scene on the night 
he hid the will. 

As I told the latter part of the story a reverent, loving, 
self-forgetful look came into her face, and made her seem 
to me like an angel. As for myself, the recalling of the 
incident, now that I knew its sequel, prevented my keeping 


182 


A LONGINO FULFILLED. 


my eyes dry. I felt a little ashamed of myself and hurried 
away, but her look while I spoke of her father, and her 
trembling form in my arms while Mrs. Markson raved at 
her, were constantly in my mind, and muddled a great many 
important estimates. They finally troubled me so that 1 
drove down again and had a long and serious talk with 
Helen. 

What we said, though perfectly proper and sensible, 
might not be interesting in print, so I omit it. I will say, 
however, that my longing — when I first saw Helen as a little 
girl — for a daughter just like her, has been fulfilled so 
exactly, that I have named her Helen Markson Eaines, after 
her mother ; and if she is not as much comfort to me as I 
supposed she would be, it is no fault of hers, but rather 
because the love of her mother makes me, twenty years 
after the incidents of this story occurred, so constantly 
happy, that I need the affection of no one else. 



GKUMP’S PET. 


O N a certain day in November, 1850, there meandered into 
the new mining camp of Painter Bar, State of Califor- 
nia, an individual who was instantly pronounced, all voices 
concurring, the ugliest man in the camp. The adjective ugly 
was applied to the man’s physiognomy alone ; but time soon 
gave the word, as applied to him, a far wider significance. 
In fact, the word was not at all equal to the requirements 
made of it, and this was probably what influenced the pre- 
fixing of numerous adjectives, sacred and profane, to this 
little word of four letters. 

The individual in question stated that he came from ‘‘ no 
whar in pu’tiklar,” and the savage, furtive glance that shot 
from his hyena-like eyes seemed to plainly indicate why the 
land of his origin was so indefinitely located. A badly 
broken nose failed to soften the expression of his eyes, a 
long, prominent, dull-red scar divided one of his cheeks, his 
mustache was not heavy enough to hide a hideous hare-lip ; 
while a ragged beard, and a head of stiff, bristly red hair, 
formed a setting which intensified rather than embellished 
the peculiarities we have noted. 

The first settlers, who seemed quite venerable and digni- 
fied, now that the camp was nearly a fortnight old, were in 
the habit of extending hospitality to all newcomers until 
these latter could build huts for themselves; but no one 
hastened to invite this beauty to partake of cracker, pork and 
lodging-place, and he finally betook himself to the southerly 


184 


PAINTER BAR ATTAINS TO AN OL"> CAMP. 


side of a large rock, against wlaicli lie placed a few bouglis 
to break tlie wind. 

The morning after his arrival, certain men missed pro- 
visions, and the ngly man was suspected ; but so depressing, 
as one miner mildly put it, was his aspect when even looked 
at inquiringly, that the bravest of the boys found excuse for 
not asking questions of the suspected man. 

“ Ain’t got no chum,” suggested Bozen, an ex-sailor, one 
day, after the crowd had done considerable staring at this 
unpleasant object ; “ ain’t got no chum, and’s lonesome — 
needs cheerin’ up.” So Bozen philanthropically staked a 
new claim near the stranger, apart from the main party. 
The next morning found him back on his old claim, and 
volunteering to every one the information that “ stranger’s a 
grump — a reg’lar grump.” From that time forth “ Grump” 
was the only name by which the man was known. 

Time rolled on, and in the course of a month Painter 
Bar was mentioned as an old camp. It had its mining rules, 
its saloon, blacksmith-shop, and faro-bank, like the proudest 
camp on the Bun, and one could find there colonels, judges, 
doctors, and squires by the dozen, besides one deacon and a 
dominie or two. 

Still, the old inhabitants kept an open eye for new- 
comers, and displayed an open-hearted friendliness from 
whose example certain Eastern cities might profit. 

But on one particular afternoon, the estimable reception 
committee were put to their wit’s end. They were enjoying 
their otium cum dignitate on a rude bench in front of the 
saloon, when some one called attention to an unfamiliar 
form which leaned against a stunted tree a few rods off. 

It was of a short, loose-jointed young man, who seemed 
so thin and lean, that Black Tom ventured the opinion that 
“ that feller had better hold tight to the groun’, ter keep 
from fallen’ upards.” His eyes were colorless, his nose was 
enormous, his mouth hung wide open and then shut with a 
twitch, as if its owner were eating flies, his chin seemed to 
have been entirely forgotten, and his thin hair was in color 
somewhere between sand and mud. 


SUBLI^lIE irxNOBANCE. 


185 


As lie leaned against the tree he afforded a fine opportu- 
nity for the study of acute and obtuse angles. His neck, 
shoulders, elbows, wrists, back, knees and feet all described 
angles, and even the toes of his shocking boots deflected 
from the horizontal in a most decided manner. 

“ Somebody ort to go say somethin’ to him,” said the 
colonel, who was recognized as leader by the miners. 

“ Fact, colonel,” replied one of the men ; “ but what’s a 
feller to say to sich a meanderin’ bone-yard ez that ? Might 
ask him, fur perliteness sake, to take fust pick uv lots in a 
new burjrin’ ground ; but then Perkins died last week, yur 
know.” 

“ Say something somebody,” commanded the colonel, and 
as he spoke his eyes alighted on Slim Ham, who obediently 
stepped out to greet the newcomer. 

“Mister,” said Sam, producing a plug of tobacco, “hev 
a chaw ?” 

“I don’t use tobacco,” languidly replied the man, and 
his answer was so unexpected that Sam precipitately re- 
tired. 

Then Black Tom advanced, and. pleasantly asked : 

What’s yer fav’rit game, stranger ?” 

‘ Blind man’s buff,” replied the stranger. 

“What’s that?” inquired Tom, blushing with shame at 
being compelled to display ignorance about games ; “ any- 
thing like going it blind at poker ?” 

“Poker? — I don’t know what that is,” replied the youth. 

“He’s from the country,” said the colonel, compassion- 
ately, “an’ hesn’t hed the right schoolin’. P’r’aps,” con- 
tinued the colonel, “ he’d enjoy the cockfight at the saloon 
to-night — these country boys are pretty well up on roosters. 
Ask him, Tom.” 

Tom put the question, and the party, in deep disgust, 
heard the man reply : 

“ No, thank you ; I think it’s cruel to make the poor 
birds hurt each other.” 

“ Look here,” said the good-natured Bozen, “ the poor 
lubber’ S' all ^one in amidships — see how flat his breadbasket 


186 


mx, FEOM PAWKIN CENTEE. 


is. I say, messmate,” continued Bozen, with a roar, and a 
jerk of his thumb over his shoulder, “ come and splice the 
main-brace.” 

“ No, thank you,” answered the unreasonable stranger ; 
“ I don’t drink.” 

The boys looked incredulously at each other, while the 
colonel arose and paced the front of the saloon two or 
three times, looking greatly puzzled. He finally stopped 
and said : 

“ The mizzable rat isn’t fit to be out uv doors, an’ needs 
takin’ keer ov. Come here, feller,” called the colonel ; “ be 
kinder sociable — don’t stand there a gawpin’ at us ez ef we 
wuz a menagerie.” 

The youth approached slowly, stared through the crowd, 
and finally asked : 

“ Is there any one here from Pawkin Centre ?” 

No one responded. 

“ Some men went out to Californy from Pawkin Centre, 
and I didn’t know but some of ’em was here. I -come from 
ther’ myself — my name’s Mix,” the youth continued. 

“ Meanin’ no disrespect to your dad,” said the colonel, 
“ Mr. Mix, Senior, ortn’t to hev let you come out here — -you 
ain’t strong enough — you’ll git fever ’n ager ’fore you’ve 
washed dirt half a day.” 

“ I ain’t got no dad,” replied the stranger ; “ leastways 
he ran away ten years ago, an’ mother had a powerful hard 
time since, a-bringin’ up the young uns, an’ we thought I 
might help along a big sight if I was out here.” 

The colonel was not what in the States would be called 
a prayer-meeting man, but he looked steadily at the young 
man, and inwardly breathed a very earnest “ God have 
mercy on you alL” Then he came back to the more im- 
mediate present, and, looking about, asked : 

“ Who’s got sleepin’-room for this young man ?” 

“ I hev,” quickly answered Grump, who had approached, 
unnoticed, while the newcomer was being interviewed. 

Every one started, and Grump’s countenance did not 


GETTING THINGS MIXED. 187 

gather amiability as he sneakingly noticed the general 
distrust. 

“ Yer needn’t glare like that,” said he, savagely ; “ I sed 
it, an’ I mean it. Come along, youngster — it’s about the 
time I generally fry my pork.” 

And the two beauties walked away together, while the 
crowd stared in speechless astonishment. 

“ He won’t make much out uv that boy, that’s one com- 
fort,” said Black Tom, who had partially recovered from his 
wonder. “You ken bet yer eye-teeth that his pockets 
wouldn’t pan out five dollars.” 

“ Then what does he want uv him ?” queried Slim Sam. 

“ Somethin’ mean an’ underhand, for certain,” said the 
colonel, “and the boy must be purtected. And I hereby 
app’int this whole crowd to keep an eye on Grump, an’ see 
he don’t make a slave of the boy, an’ don’t rob him of dust. 
An’ I reckon I’ll take one of yer with me, an’ keep watch of 
the old rascal to-night. I don’t trust him wuth a durn.” 

That night the boys at the saloon wrinkled their brows 
like unto an impecunious Committee of Ways and Means, as 
they vainly endeavored to surmise why Grump could want 
that young man as a lodger. Men who pursued wittling as 
an aid to reason made pecks of chips and shavings, and 
were no nearer a solution than when they began. 

There were a number of games played, but so great was 
the absentmindedness of the players, that several hardened 
scamps indulged in some most unscrupulous “ stocking ” of 
the cards without detection. But even one of these, after 
having dealt himself both bowers and the king, besides two 
aces, suddenly imagined he had discovered Grump’s motive, 
and so earnest was he in exposing that nefarious wretch, 
that one of his opponents changed hands with him. Even 
the barkeeper mixed the bottles badly, and on one occasion, 
just as the boys were raising their glasses, he metaphorically 
dashed the cup from their lips by a violent, “ I tell you 
what,” and an unsatisfactory theory. Finally the colonel 
arose. 


188 


TWO PISTOLS BEAEING ON GBUMP. 


“Boys,” said he, in the tone of a man whose mind is 
settled, “ ’tain’t ’cos the youngster looked like lively com- 
p’ny, fur he didn’t. ’Taint ’cos Grump wanted to do him a 
good turn, fur ’tain’t his style. Cons’kently, thar’s sum- 
thin’ wrong. Tom, I reckon I take you along.” 

And Tom and the colonel departed. 

During the month which had elapsed since his advent, 
Grump had managed to build him a hut of the usual mining 
pattern, and the colonel and Tom stealthily examined its 
walls, front and rear, until they found crevices which would 
admit the muzzle of a revolver, should it be necessary. Then 
they applied their eyes to the same cracks, and saw the 
youth asleep on a pile of dead grass, with Grump’s knapsack 
for a pillow, and one of Grump’s blankets over him. Grump 
himself was sitting on a fragment of stone, staring into the 
fire, with his face in his hands. 

He sat so long that the worthy colonel began to feel in- 
dignant ; to sit in a cramped position on the outside of a 
house, for the sake of abused human nature, was an action 
more praiseworthy than comfortable, and the colonel began 
to feel personally aggrieved at Grump’s delay. Besides, 
the colonel was growing thirsty. 

Suddenly Grump.arose, looked down at the sleeping youth, 
and then knelt beside him. The colonel briskly brought 
his pistol to bear on him, and with great satisfaction 
noted that Tom’s muzzle occupied 9, crack in the front walls, 
and that he himself was out of range. 

A slight tremor seemed to run through the sleeper; “and 
no wonder,” said the colonel, when he recounted the adven- 
ture to the boys ; “ anybody’d shiver to hev that catamount 
glarin’ at him.” 

Grump arose, and softly went to a corner which was 
hidden by the chimney. 

“ Gone for his knife. I’ll bet,” whispered the colonel to 
himself. “ I hope Tom don’t spile my mad by firin’ fust.” 

Grump returned to view ; but instead of a knife, he bore 
another blanket, which he gently spread over his sleeping 


LITTLE CHANCE FOR INQUEST OR FUNERAL. 189 

guest, then he lay down beside Mix with a log of wooa 
a pillow. 

The colonel withdrew his pistol, and softly muttered to 
himself a dozen or two enormous oaths ; then he arose, 
straightened out his cramped legs, and started to find Tom. 
That worthy had started on a similar errand, and on meet- 
ing, the two stared at each other in the moonlight as blankly 
as a couple of well-preserved mummies. 

“S’pose the boys ’ll believe us ?” whispered the coloneL 

“We ken bring ’em down to see the show themselves, ef 
they don’t,” replied Tom. 

The colonel’s report was productive of the choicest 
assortment of ejaculations that had been heard in camp 
since Natchez, the leader of the Vinegar Gulch Boys, joined 
the Church and commenced preaching. 

The goodmatured Bozen was for drinking Grump’s 
health at once, but the colonel demurred. So did Slim 
Sam. 

“ He’s goin’ to make him work on sheers, or some hocus- 
pocusin’ arrangement, an’ he can’t afford to hev him git sick. 
That’s what his kindness amounts to,” said Sam. 

“ Ur go, fur his gratitude — and dust, when he gets any,” 
suggested another, and no one repelled the insinuation. 

It was evident, however, that there was but little chance 
of either inquest or funeral from Grump’s, and the crowd 
finally dispersed with the confirmed assurance that there 
would be one steady cause of excitement for some time to 
come. 

Next morning young Mix staked a claim adjoining 
Grump. The colonel led him aside, bound him to secrecy, 
and told him that there was a far richer dirt further down 
the stream. The young man pointed toward the hut, and 
replied : 

“ He sed ’twas payin’ dirt, an’ I ort to take his advice, 
seein’ he giv me a pick an’ shovel an^ pan — sed he’d hev to git 
new ones anyhow.” 

’ “ Thunder I” ejaculated the colonel, more puzzled than 


190 


A miner’s prophesy. 


ever, knowing well how a miner will cling as long as possible 
to tools with which he is acquainted. 

“ Jest wait till that boy gets a bag of dust,” said a miner, 
when the colonel had narrated the second wonder. “ The 
express agent ’ll be here next week to git what fellers wants 
to send to their folks — the boy’ll want to send some to his’n 
— his bag ’ll be missin’ ’bout then — ^jist wait, and ef my 
words don’t come true, call me greaser.” 

The colonel pondered over the prophecy, and finally de- 
termined on another vigil outside Grump’s hut. 

Meanwhile, Grump’s Pet, as Mix had been nicknamed, 
afforded the camp a great deal of amusement. He was not i 
at all reserved, and was easily drawn out on the subject of 
his protector, of whom he spoke in terms of unmeasured 
praise. 

“ By the piper that played before Moses,” said one of 
the boys one day, “ ef half that boy sez is true, some day 
Grump ’ll hev wings sprout through his shirt, an’ ’ll be sit- 
tin’ on the sharp edge uv a cloud an’ playin’ onto a harp, jist 
like the other angels.” 

As for Grump himself, he improved so much that suspi- 
cion was half disarmed when one looked at him ; neverthe- 
less the colonel deemed it prudent to watch the Pet’s land- 
lord on the night preceding the express day. 

The colonel timed himself by counting the games of old 
sledge that were played. At the end of the sixth game after 
dark he made his way to Grump’s hut and quietly located 
himself at the same crack as before. 

The Pet and his friend were both lying down, but by the 
light of the fire the colonel could see the eyes of the former t 
were closed, while those of the latter were wide open. The ] 
moments flew by, and still the two men remained in the same | 
positions, the Pet apparently fast asleep, and Grump wide 
awake. 

The interior of a miner’s hut, though displaying great 
originality of design, and ingenious artistic effects, becomes 
after a time rather a tiresome object of contemplation. The 


ANOTHER BEAD ON GRUMP. 


191 


I colonel found it so, and lie relieved liis strained eyes by an 
[ occasional amateur astronomical observation. On turning 
bis head, with a yawn, from one of these, he saw inside the 
hut a state of affairs which caused him to feel hurriedly for 
his pistol. 

Grump had risen upon one elbow, and was stealthily feel- 
ing with his other hand under the Pet’s head. 

“ Ha !” thought the colonel ; “ right at last.” 

Slowly Grump’s hand emerged from beneath the Pet’s 
head, and with it came a leather bag containing gold 
dust. 

The colonel drew a perfect bead on Grump’s temple. 

“ I’ll jest wait till you’re stowin’ that away, my golden- 
. haired beauty,” said the colonel, within himself, “ an’ then 
we’ll see what cold lead’s got to say about it.” 

Grump untied the bag, set it upon his own pillow, drew 
forth his own pouch, and untied it ; the colonel’s aim re- 
mained true to its unconscious mark. 

“ Ef that’s the game,” continued the colonel, to himself, 
“ I reckon the proper time to play my trump is just when 
you’re a-pourin’ from his bag into your’n. It ’ll be ez good’s 
a theatre, to bring the boys up to see how ’twas done. Lord ! 
I wish he’d hurry up !” 

Grump placed a hand upon each bag, and the colonel 
felt for his trigger. Grump’s left hand opened wide the 
mouth of Pet’s bag, and his right hand raised his own ; in a 
moment he had poured out all his own gold into Pet’s bag, 
tied it, and replaced it under Pet’s head. 

The colonel retired quietly for a hundred yards, or more, 
then he started for the saloon like a man inspired by a three- 
days’ thirst. As he entered the saloon the crowd arose. 

“ Any feller ken say I lie,” meekly spoke the colonel, 
“ an’ I won’t shoot. I wouldn’t believe it ef I hedn’t seen it 
with my own eyes. Grump’s poured all his gold into the 
Pet’s pouch !” 

The whole party, in chorus, condemned their optical or- 
gans to supernatural warmth ; some, more energetic than the 


192 


CAME TO “ HELP THE FOLKS.' 


rest,' signified that the operation should extend to their lungs 
and lives. But the doubter of the party again spoke : ^ 

“Mind yer,” said he, “to-morrow he’ll be complainin’ 
that the Pet stole it, an’ then he’ll claim all in the Pet’s 
pouch.” 

The colonel looked doubtful ; several voices expressed 
dissent ; Bozen, reviving his proposition to drink to Grump, 
found opinion about equally balanced, but conservative. It 
was agreed, however, that all the boys should “ hang around” ‘ 
the express agent next day, and should, if Grump made the 
Pet any trouble, dispose of him promptly, and give the Pet 
a clear title to all of Grump’s rights and properties. 

The agent came, and one by one the boys deposited their 
dust, saw it weighed, and took their receipts. Presently ^ 
there was a stir near the door, and Grump and Pet entered. 
Pet’s gold was weighed, his mother’s name given, and a re- 
ceipt tendered. 

“ Thinks he’s goin’ to hev conviction in writin’,” whis- 1 
pered the doubter to the colonel. 

But the agent finished his business, took the stage, and j 
departed. Grump started to the door to see the last of it.| 
The doubter was there before him, and saw a big tear in the 
* corner of each of Grump’s eyes. 

*******; 

A few days after Grump went to Placerville for a new^; 
pick for the Pet— the old one was too heavy for a light man,jj( 
Grump said. Pet himself felt rather lonesome working on i 
his neighbor’s claim, so hq sauntered down the creek, and ^ 
got a kind word from almost every man. His ridiculous 
anatomy had escaped the grave so long, he was so indus- 
trious and so inoffensive, that the boys began to have a sort 
of affection for the boy who had come so far to “ help the 
folks.” 

Finally, some weak miner, unable to hold the open secret ‘i 
any longer, told the Pet about Grump’s operation in dust. 
Great was the astonishment of the young man, and puzzling 
miners gained sympathy from the weak eyes and open mouth 


MR. BEOADY TAKES A HAND. 


193 


of the Pet as he meandered homeward, evidently as much at 
a loss as themselves. 

Unlucky was the spirit which prompted Grump in the 
selection of his claim ! It was just beyond a small bend 
which the Pun made, and was, therefore, out of sight of the 
claims of the other men belonging to the camp. And it came 
to pass that while Pet was standing on his own claim, lean- 
ing on his spade, and puzzling his feeble brain, there came 
down the Pun the great Broady, chief of the Jolly Grass- 
hoppers, who were working several miles above. 

Mr. Broady had found a nugget a few days before, and, 
in his exultation, had ceased work and become a regular 
member of the bar. A week’s industrious drinking devel- 
oped in him that peculiar amiability and humanity which 
is characteristic of cheap whisky, and as Pet was small, ugly^ 
and alone, Broady commenced working off on him his own 
superfluous energy. 

Poor Pet’s resistance only increased the fury of Broady, 
and the family at Pawkin Centre seemed in imminent danger 
of being supported by the town, when suddenly a pair of 
enormous stubby hands seized Broady by the throat, and 
a harsh voice, which Pet joyfully recognized as Grump’s, ex- 
claimed : 

“Let him go, or I’ll tear yer into mince-meat, curse 
yer!” 

The chief of the Jolly Grasshoppers was not in the habit 
of obeying orders, but Grump’s hands imparted to his com- 
mand considerable moral force. 

No sooner, however, had Broady extricated himself from 
Grump’s grasp than he drew his revolver and fired. Grump 
fell, and the chief of the Jolly Grasshoppers, his injured 
dignity made whole, walked peacefully away. 

The sound of the shot brought up all the boys from 
below. 

“ They’ve fit !” gasped the doubter, catching his breath 
as he ran, “ an’ the boy — ^boy’s hed to — lay him out. 

It seemed as if the doubter might be right, for the boys 


194 


“’cause i’m yer dad.’ 


found Grump lying on the ground bleeding badly, and the 
Pet on his hands and knees. 

“ How did it come ’bout ?” asked the colonel of Pet. 

“ Broady done it,” replied Grump, in a hoarse whisper ; 
“ he pounded the boy, and I tackled him — then he fired.” 

The doubter went around and raised the dying man’s 
head. Pet seemed collecting all his energies for some great 
effort ; finally he asked : 

“ What made you pour your dust into my pouch ?” 

“’Cause,” whispered the dying man, putting one arm 
about Pet’s neck, and drawing him closer, “ ^ cause Tm yer 
dod ; give this to yer mar,” and on Pet’s homely face the 
ugliest man at Painter Bar put the first token of human 
affection ever displayed in that neighborhood. 

The arm relaxed its grasp and fell loosely, and the red 
eyes closed. The experienced colonel gazed into the up- 
turned face, and gently said : 

“ Pet, yer an orphan.” 

Keverently the boys carried the dead man into his own 
hut. Several men dug a grave beside that of Perkins, while 
the colonel and doubter acted as undertakers, the latter 
donating his only white shirt for a shroud. 

This duty done, they went to the saloon, and the doubter 
called up the crowd. The glasses filled, the doubter raised 
his own, and exclaimed : 

“ Boys, here’s corpse — corpse is the best-looking man in 
camp.” 

And so he was. For the first time in his wretched life his 
soul had reached his face, and the Judge mercifully took 
him while he was yet in His own image. 

The body was placed in a rude coffin, and borne to the 
grave on a litter of spades, followed by every man in camp, 
the colonel supporting the only family mourner. Each man 
threw a shovelful of dirt upon the coffin before the filling 
began. As the last of the surface of the coffin disappeared 
from view. Pet raised a loud cry and wept bitterly, at which 
operation he was joined by the whole party. 


WAKDELOW’S BOY. 


"VTEW Boston lias once been tbe most promising of the 
jy growing cities of the West, according to some New York 
gentleman who constituted a land improvement company, 
distributed handsome maps gratis, and courted susceptible 
Eastern editors. Its water-power was unrivaled ; ground for 
all desirable public buildings, and for a handsome park with 
ready-grown trees and a natural lake, had been securely pro- 
vided for by the terms of the company’s charter ; building 
material abounded ; the water was good ; the soil of un- 
equaled fertility ; while the company, with admirable fore- 
thought, had a well-stocked store on the ground, and had 
made arrangements to send to the town a skillful physician 
and a popular preacher. 

A reasonable number of colonists found their way to the 
ground in the pleasant Spring time, and, in spite of sundry 
local peculiarities not mentioned in the company’s circular, 
they might have remained, had not a mighty freshet, in June, 
driven them away, and even saved some of them the trouble 
of moving their houses. 

When, however, most of the residences floated down the 
river, some of them bearing their owners on their roofs, such 
of the inhabitants as had money left the promised land for 
ever ; while the others made themselves such homes as they 
could in the nearest settlements which were above water, 
and fraternized with the natives through the medium of that 
common bond of sympathy in the Western lowlands, the 
ague. 


196 


A SMALL BOY WANTED. 


Only a single one of the original inhabitants remained, 
and he, although he might have chosen the best of the aban- 
doned houses for his residence, or even the elegant but de- 
serted “ company’s store,” continued to inhabit the cabin he 
had built upon his arrival. The solid business men of the 
neighboring town of Mount Pisgah, situated upon a bluff) 
voted him a fool whenever his name was mentioned ; but the 
wives of these same men, when they chanced to see old 
Wardelow passing by, with the wistful face he always wore, 
looked after him tenderly, and never lost an opportunity to 
speak to him kindly. When they met at tea-parties, or quilt- 
ing-bees, or sewing-societies, or in other gatherings exclu- 
sively feminine, there were not a few of them who had the 
courage to say that the world would be better if more men 
were like old Wardelow. 

For love seemed the sole motive of old Wardelow’s life- 
The cemetery which the thoughtful projectors of New Boston 
had presented to the inhabitants had for its only occupant 
the wife of old Wardelow ; and she had been conveyed thereto 
by a husband who was both young and handsome. The 
freshet which had, soon afterward, swept the town, had car- 
ried with it Wardelow’s only child, a boy of seven years, who 
had been playing in a boat which he, in some way, unloosed. 

From that day the father had found no trace of his child, 
yet he never ceased hoping for his return. Every steamboat 
captain on the river knew the old man, and the roughest of 
them had cheerfuly replied in the affirmative when asked if 
they wouldn’t bring -up a small boy who might some day 
come on board, report himself as Stevie Wardelow, and ask 
to be taken to New Boston. 

Almost every steamboat man, from captain and pilot do wn 
to fireman and roustabout, carried and posted Wardelow’s 
circulars wherever they went — up Bed Biver, the Yazoo, 
the White, the Arkansas, the Missouri, and all the smaller 
tributaries of the Mississippi. 

New Boston had long been dropped from the list of post- 
towns, but every cross-road for miles around had a finger- 


GUIDEBOAEDS HOME. 


197 


board showing the direction and telling the distance to New 
Boston. Upon a tall cottonwood-tree on the river-bank> 
and nearly in front of Wardelow’s residence, was an im- 
mense signboard bearing the name of “ New Boston Land- 
ing,” and on the other side of the river, at a ferry-staging 
belonging to a crossing whose other terminus was a mile fur- 
ther down the river, was a sign which informed travelers that 
persons wishing to go to New Boston would find a skiff 
marked “ Wardelow” tied near the staging. 

The old man never went to Mount Pisgah for stores, or 
up the river to fish, or even into his own cornfield and gar- 
den, without afiixing to his door a placard telling where he 
had gone and when he would return. 

When he went to the cemetery, which he frequently did, 
a statement to that effect, and a plan showing the route to and 
through the cemetery, was always appended to his door, and, 
as he could never clearly imagine his boy as having passed 
the childhood in which he had last seen him, all the sign- 
boards, placards, and circulars were in large capital letters. 

Even when the river overflowed its banks, which it did 
nearly every Spring, the old man did not leave his house. 
He would not have another story built upon it, as he was 
advised to do, lest Stevie might fail to recognize it on his re- 
turn ; but, after careful study, he had the house raised until 
the foundation was above high-water mark, and then had the 
ground made higher, but sloped so gradually that the boy 
could not notice the change. 

When one after another of the city’s “ plots,” upon which 
deserted houses stood, were sold for default in payment of 
taxes, old Wardelow bought them himself — they always went 
for a song, and the old man preferred to own them, lest some 
one else might destroy the ruins, and thus make the place 
unfamiliar to the returning wanderer. 

Of friends he had almost none. Although he was intel- 
ligent, industrious, ingenious, and owned a library which 
passed for quite a large one in those days and in the new 
West, he cared to talk on only one subject, and as that was 


198 


A BEAUTIFUL CHAEACTER. 


of no particular interest to other people, and became, in the 
course of time, extremely stale to those who did not like it, 
the people of Mount Pisgah and the adjoining country did 
not spend more time upon old Wardelow than was required 
by the necessities of business. 

There were a few exceptions to this rule. Old Mrs. Perry, 
who passed for a saint, and whose life did not belie her 
reputation, used to drive her old pony up to New Boston 
about once a month, carrying some home-made delicacy 
with her, and chatting sympathetically for an hour or two. 

Among the Mount Pisgah merchants there was one — who 
had never had a child of his own — who always pressed the 
old man’s hand warmly, and admitted the possibility of 
whatever new hope Wardelow might express. 

The pastors of the several churches at Mount Pisgah, 
however much they disagreed on doctrinal points, were in 
perfect accord as to the beauty of a character which was so 
completely under the control of a noble principle that had no 
promise of money in it ; most of them, therefore, paid the 
old man professional visits, from which they generally re- 
turned with more benefit than they had conferred. 

Time had rolled on as usual, in spite of Wardelow’s great 
sorrow. The Mexican war was just breaking out when New 
Boston was settled, and Wardelow’s hair was black, and 
Mount Pisgah was a little cluster of log huts ; but when Lin- 
coln was elected, Wardelow had been gray and called old for 
nearly ten years, and Mount Pisgah had quite a number of 
two-story residences and brick stores, and was a county 
town, with court-house and jail all complete. 

None of the railway lines projected toward and through 
Mount Pisgah had been completed, however, nor had the 
town telegraphic comUiunication with anywhere; so, com- 
pared with localities enjoying the higher benefits of civiliza- 
tion, Mount Pisgah and its surroundings constituted quite a 
paradise for horse-thieves. 

There were still sparsely settled places, too, which 
needed the ministrations of the Methodist circuit-rider. 


A SERMON IN BRIEF. 


199 


The young man who had been sent by the Southern 
Illinois Conference to preach the Word on the Mount Pisgah 
circuit was great-hearted and impetuous, and tremendously 
in earnest in all that he did or said ; but, like all such men, 
he paid the penalty of being in advance of his day and gen- 
^eration by suffering some terrible fits of depression over the 
small results of his labor. 

And so, following the example of most of his predeces- 
sors on the Mount Pisgah circuit, he paid many a visit to 
old Wardelow, to learn strength from this perfect example of 
patient faith. 

As the circuit-rider left the old man one evening, and 
sought his faithful horse in the deserted barn in which he 
had tied him, he was somewhat astonished to find the horse 
unloosed, and another man quietly leading him away. 

Courage and decision being among the qualities which 
are natural to the successful circuit^rider, he sprang at the 
thief and knocked him down. The operator in horse-flesh 
speedily regained his feet, however, and as he closed with 
the preacher the latter saw, under the starlight, the gleam 
of a knife. 

Commending himself to the Lord, he made such vigorous 
efforts for the safety of his body that, within two or three 
moments, he had the thief face downward on the ground, his 
own knee on the thief’s back, one hand upon the thief’s 
neck, and in his other hand the thief’s knife. Then the cir- 
cuit-rider delivered a short address. 

“ My sinful friend,” said he, “ when two men get into 
such a scrape as this, and one of them is in your line of 
business, one or the other will have to die, and I don’t pro- 
pose to be the one. I haven’t finished the work which the 
Master has given me to do. If you’ve any dying messages 
to send to anybody, I give you my word as a preacher that 
they shall be delivered, but you must speak quick. What’s 
your name ?” 

“I’ll give you five hundred dollars to let me off — you 
may holler for help and tie my hand, and ’* 


200 


A FIGHTING PREACHER. 


“No use — speak quick,” hissed the preacher — “what’s 
your name ?” 

“Stephen Wardelow,” gasped the thief. 

“ What !” roared the preacher, loosening his grasp, but 
instantly tightening it again. 

“ Stephen Wardelow,” replied the thief. “ But 1 haven’t 
got any messages to send to anybody. I haven’t a relative 
in the world, and nobody would care if I was dead. I might 
as well go now as any time. Hit square when yo do let me 
have it — that’s all !” 

“Where’s your parents?” asked the preacher. 

“Dead, I reckon,” the thief answered. “Leastways, I 
know mother is, and dad lived in a fever an’ aguerish place, 
an* I s’pose he’s gone, too, before this.” 

“ Where did he live ?” 

“I don’t know — some new settlement somewheres in 
Illinois. I got lost in the river when I was a little boy, an* 
was picked up by a tradin’-boat an’ sold for a nearly-white 
nigger — s’pose I was pretty dark.” 

There was a silence ; the captive lay perfectly quiet, as if 
expecting the fatal blow. Suddenly a voice was heard : 

“ Not wishin’ to interfere in a fair fight — it’s me, parson. 
Sheriff Peters — not wishin’ to interfere in a fair fight, I’ve 
been a-lookin’ on here, where I’d tracked the thief myself, 
and would have grabbed him if you hadn’t been about half 
a minute ahead of me. And if you want to know my honest 
opinion — my professional opinion — it’s just this : There was 
stuff for a splendid sheriff spiled when you went a-preachin’. 
How you’d get along when it come to collectin’ taxes, I don’t 
know, never havin’ been at any meetin’ where you took up a 
collection; but when it come to an arrest, you’d be just 
chain -lightning ground down to a pint. The pris’ner’s 
yours, and so’s all the rewards that’s offered for liim, though 
they’re not offered for a man of the name he gives. But 
honest, now, don’t you think there’s a chance of mitigatin’ 
circumstances in his case ? Let’s talk it over — ^I’ll help you 
tie him so he can’t slip you.” 


AN ASTONISHED SON. 


201 


The sheriff lighted a. pocket-lantern and placed it in a 
window-frame behind him, then he tied the prisoner’s feet 
and legs in several places, tied his hands behind his back, 
sat him upon the ground with his face toward the door, 
cocked a pistol, and then beckoned the preacher toward a 
corner. The sheriff opened his pocketbook and took out a 
paper, whispering as he did so : 

“ I’ve carried this as a sort of a curiosity, but it may 
come in handy now. Let’s see — confound it ! — the poor old 
fellow is describing the child just as it was fifteemyears ago. 
Oh, here’s a point or two ! — ‘ brown eyes, black hair ’ — oh, 
bully ! here’s the best thing yet ! — ‘ first joint of the left fore- 
finger gone.’ ” 

The sheriff snatched the light, and both men hastened to 
examine the prisoner’s hand. After a single glance their 
jeyes met and each set of optics inquired of the other. 

At length the sheriff remarked : 

“He’s your pris’ner.” 

The circuit-rider flushed and then turned pale. Ho took 
the lantern from the sheriff, turned the light full on the pris- 
oner’s face, and said : 

“Prisoner, suppose you were to find that your father 
was alive ?” 

The horse-thief replied with a piercing glance, which 
was full of wonder, but said not a word. A moment or two 
passed, and the preacher said : 

“ Suppose you were to find that your father was alive, 
and had searched everywhere for you, and that he thought 
of nothing but you, and was all the time hoping for your 
return — that he had grown old before his time, all because 
of his longing and sorrow for .you ?” The thief dropped 
his eyes, then his face twitched ; at last he burst out crying. 
“ Your father is alive ; he isn’t far from this cabin ; he’s 
very sick ; I’ve just left him. Nothing but the sight of you 
will do him any good ; but I think so much of him that I’d 
rather kill you this instant than let him know what business 
you’ve been in.” 


202 


CONDITIONAL SUERENDEK. 


“ Them’s my sentiments, too,” remarked the sheriff. 

“Let me see him!” exclaimed the prisoner, clasping and 
raising his manacled hands, while his face filled with an 
earnestness which was literally terrible — “ let me see him, 
if it’s only for a few minutes 1 You needn’t be afraid that 
ru tell him what I am, and you won’t be mean enough to 
do it, if I don’t try to run away. Have mercy on me! 
You don’t know what it is to never have had anybody to 
love you, and then suddenly to find that there is some one 
that wants you!” 

The preacher turned to the officer and said : 

“I’m a law-abiding citizen, sheriff.” 

And the sheriff replied : 

“ He’s your pris’ner.” 

“ Then suppose I let him go, on his promise to stick to 
his father for the rest of his life !” 

“He s your pris’ner,” repeated the sheriff. 

“ Suppose, then, I were to insist upon your taking him 
into custody.” 

“ Why, then,” said the sheriff, speaking like a man in the 
depths of meditation, “ I would let him go myself, and — and 
I’d have to shoot you to save my reputation as a faithful 
officer.” 

The preacher made a peculiar face. The prisoner 
exclaimed : 

“ Hurry, you brutes !” 

The preacher said, at last : 

Let him loose.” 

The sheriff removed the handcuffs, dived into his own 
pocket, brought out a pocket-comb and glass, and handed 
them to the thief ; then he placed the lantern in front of 
him, and said : 

“ Fix yourself up a little. Your hat’s a miz’able one — 
I’ll swap with you. You’ve got to make up some cock-and- 
bull story now, for the old man’ll want to know everything. 
You might say you’d been a sheriff down South somewhere 
since you got away from the feller that owned you.” 


CmCUIT-RIDER VERSTT8 SHERIFF. 


203 


The preacher paused over a knot in one of the cords on 
the prisoner’s legs, and said : 

“ Say you were a circuit-rider — that’s more near the 
literal truth.” 

The sheriff seemed to demur somewhat, and he said, at 
length : 

“Withoul^ meanin’ any disrespect, parson, don’t you 
think ’twould tickle the old man and the citizens more to 
think he’d been a sheriff? They wouldn’t dare to ask him 
so many questions then, either. And it might be onhandy 
for him if he was asked to preach, while a smart horse-thief 
has naturally got some of the p’ints of a real sheriff about 
him.” 

“You insist upon it that he’s my prisoner,” said the 
preacher, tugging away at his knot, “ and I insist upon the 
circuit-rider story. And,” continued the young man, with 
one mighty pull at the knot, “ he’s got to be a circuit-rider, 
and I’m going to make one of him. Do you hear that, 
young man? I’m the man that’s setting you free and giv- 
ing you to your father !” 

“ You can make anything you please out of me,” said the 
prisoner. “ Only hurry !” 

“ As you say, parson,” remarked the sheriff, with admira- 
ble meekness; “he’s youx prisoner, but I could make a 
splendid deputy out of him if you’d let him take my advice. 
And I’d agree to work for his nomination for my place when 
my term runs out. Think of what he might get to be ! — 
there Jids sheriffs gone to the Legislature, and I’ve heard of 
one that went to Congress.” 

“Circuit-riders get higher than that, sometimes,” said 
the preacher, leading his prisoner toward old Wardelow’s 
cabin ; “ they get as high as heaven !” 

“ Oh !” remarked the sheriff, and gave up the contest. 

Both men accompanied the prisoner toward his father’s 
house. The preaclier began to deliver some cautionary 
remarks, but the young man burst from him, threw open 
the door, and shouted : 


204 


THE SHERIFF SUSPECTED. 


“Father!” 

Tlie old man started from his bed, shaded his eyes, and 
exclaimed : 

“ Stevie 1” 

The father and son embraced, seeing which the sheriff 
proved that even sheriffs are human by snatching the cir- 
cuit-rider in his arms and giving him a mighty hug. 
******* 

The father recovered and lived happily. The son and the 
preacher fulfilled their respective promises, and the sheriff, 
always, on meeting either of them, so abounded in genia’i 
winks and effusive handshakings, . that he nearly lost his 
next election by being suspected of having become religious 
himself. 



TOM CHAFFLIN’S LUCK 


T UCK? Why, I never seed anything like it! Ter 

JU might give him the sweepin’s of a saloon to wash, an’ 
he’d pan out a nugget ev’ry time — do it ez shure as 
shootin’ I” 

This rather emphatic speech proceeded one day from the 
lips of Cairo Jake, an industrious washer of the golden sands 
of California ; but it was evident to all intelligent observers 
that even language so strong as to seem almost figurative did 
not fully express Cairo Jake’s conviction, for he shook his 
head so positively that his hat fell off into the stream, 
which found a level only an inch or two below Jacob’s boot- 
tops, and he stamped his right foot so vigorously as to en- 
danger his equilibrium. 

“ Well,” sighed a discontented miner fi'om New Jersey, 
‘‘ Providence knows His own bizness best, I s’pose ; but I 
could have found him a feller that could have made a darn 
sight better use of his good luck — ef he’d had any — than 
Tom Chaffiin. He don’t know nothin’ ’bout the worth of 
money — never seed him drunk in my life, an’ he don’t seem 
to get no fun out of keerds.” 

“ Providence ’ll hev a season’s job ^ a-satisfyin’ you, old 
Eedbank,” replied Cairo Jake ; ‘‘ but it’s all-fired queer, for 
all that. Ef a feller could only learn how he done it, 
’twouldn’t seem so funny ; but he don’t seem to have no way 
in p’tickler about him that a feller ken find out.” 

“ Fact,” said Eedbank, with a solemn groan. “ I’ve 
studied his face — why, ef I’d studied half ez hard at school 


206 


SOME folks’ luck. 


I’d be a president, or missionary, or somethin’ now — but I 
don’t make it out. Once I ’llowed ’twas cos he didn’t keer, 
an’ was kind o’ reckless — sort o’ went it blind. So I tried it 
on a-playin’ monte.” 

“Well, how did it work?” asked the gentleman from Cairo. 

“ Work ?” echoed the Jersey man, with the air of an un- 
successful candidate musing over the “ saddest words of 
thought or pen “I started with thirteen ounces, an’ in 
twenty minutes I was borryin’ the price of a drink from the 
dealer. Thafs how it w^orked.” 

Certain other miners looked sorrowful ; it was evident 
that they, too, had been reckless, and had trusted to luck, 
and that in a place where gold-digging and gambling were 
the only two means of proving the correctness of their theory, 
it was not difficult to imagine by which one they were dis- 
appointed. 

“ Long an’ short of it’s jest this,” resumed Cairo Jake, 
straightening himself for a moment, and picking some coarse 
gravel from his pan, “ Tom Chaffiin’s always in luck. His 
claim pays better’n anybody else’s ; he always gets the lucky 
number at a raffie, his shovel don’t never break, an’ his 
chimbly ain’t always catchin’ a-fire. He’s gone down to 
’Frisco now, an’ I’ll bet a dozen ounces that jest cos he’s 
aboard, the old boat ’ll go down an’ back without runnin’ 
aground a solitary durned time.” 

No one took up Cairo Jake’s bet, so that it was evident 
he uttered the general sentiment of the mining camp of 
Quicksilver Bar. 

Every man, in the temporary silence which followed 
Jake’s summary, again bent industriously over his pan, until 
the scene suggested an amateur water-cure establishment re- 
turning thanks for basins of gruel, when suddenly the whole 
line was startled into suspension of labor by the appearance 
of London George, who was waving his hat with one hand and 
a red silk handkerchief with the other, while with his left foot 
he was performing certain pas not necessary to successful 
pedestrianism. 


ErrORTS TO KEEP BRITON FROM FEEUN’ BAD. 207 

‘‘ Quicksilver Bar hain’t up to snuff — ok, no ! Ain’t a 
catcliin’ up with ’Frisco — not at all I Little Chestnut don’t 
know how to run a saloon, an’ make other shops weep — ^not 
in the least — not at all — oh, no !” 

“ Eh ?” inquired half a dozen. 

“Don’t b’leeve me if you don’t want to, but just bet 
against it ’fore you go to see — ^that’s all I” continued London 
George, fanning himself with his hat. 

“ George,” said Judge Baggs, with considerable asperity, 
‘‘ ef you are an Englishman, try to speak your native tongue, 
an’ explain what you mean by actin’ ez ef you’d jes’ broke 
out of a lunatic ’sylum. Speak quick, or I’ll fine you drinks 
for the crowd.” 

“ Just as lieve you would,” said the unabashed Briton^ 
“ seein’ — seein’ Chestnut’s got a female — a woman — a lady 
cashier — there! Guess them San Francisco saloons ain’t 
the only ones that knows what’s what — ^not any !” 

“ I don’t b’leeve a word of it,” said the judge, washing 
his hands rather hastily ; “ but I’ll jest see for myself.” 

Cairo Jake looked thoughtfully on the retreating form of 
the judge, and remarked : 

“ He’ll feel ashamed of hisself when he gits thar an’ finds 
he’ll hev to drink alone. Beckon I’ll go up, jest to keep him 
fropi feelin’ bad.” 

Several others seemed impressed by the same idea, and 
moved quite briskly in the direction of Chestnut’s saloon. 

The judge, protected by his age and a pair of green spec- 
tacles, boldly entered, while his followers dispersed them- 
selves sheepishly just outside the open door, past which 
they marched and re-marched as industriously as a lot of 
special sentries. 

There was no doubt about it. Chestnut had installed a 
lady at the end of the bar, and as, between breakfast and 
dinner, there was but little business done at the saloon, the 
lady was amusing herself by weighing corks and pebbles in 
the tiny scales which were to weigh the metallic equivalent 
for refreshments. 


208 


THE NEW RECEIVER OF TREASURE. 


The judge contemplated the arrangements with consider- 
able satisfaction, and immediately called up all thirsty souls 
present. 

Those outside the door entered with the caution of vet- 
erans in an enemy’s country, and with a bashfulness that 
was painful to contemplate. They stood before the bar, 
they glanced cautiously to the right, and gently inclined 
their heads backward, until only a line of eyes and noses 
were visible from the cashier’s desk. 

Then the judge raised his green glasses a moment, and 
smiled benignantly on the new cashier as he raised his 
liquor aloft ; then he turned to his party, and they drank 
the toast as solemnly as if they were the soldiers of Miles 
Standish fortifying the inner man against fear of the Pequods. 
Then they separated into small groups, and conversed 
gravely on subjects in which they had not the slightest in- 
terest, while each one pretended not to look toward the 
cashier, and each one saw what the others were earnestly 
striving to do. 

But when the judge settled the score, and chatted for 
several minutes wuth the receiver of treasure, and the lady — 
young, and rather pretty, and quite pleasant and modest and 
business-like — laughed merrily at something the judge said* 
an idea gradually dawned upon the bystanders, and within 
a few moments the boys feverishly awaited their chances to 
treat the crowd, for the sole purpose of having an excuse to 
speak to the new cashier, and to stand within three feet of 
her for about the space of a minute. 

Great was the excitement on the Creek when the party 
returned, and testified to the entire accuracy of London 
George’s report. 

Every one went to the saloon that night — there had been 
some games arranged to take place at certain huts, but they 
were postponed by mutual consent. 

Even the Dominie — an ex-preacher, who had never yet 
set foot upon the profane floor of the saloon — appeared there 
that evening in search of some one so exceeding hard to find 


NO OPPORTUNITY FOR LOVE-MAKING. 209 

that the Dominie was compelled to make several tours of all 
the tables and benches in the room. 

Chestnut himself, when questioned, said she had come 
by the way of the Isthmus with her father and mother, who 
had both died of the Chagres fever before reaching San 
Francisco — that some friends of her family and his had been 
trying to get her something to do in ’Frisco, and that he had 
engaged her at an ounce a day ; and, furthermore, that he 
would be greatly obliged if the boys at Quicksilver wouldn’t 
marry her before she had worked out her passage-money 
from ’Frisco, which he had advanced. But the boys at 
Quicksilver were not so thoughtful of Chestnut’s interests 
as they might have been. They began to buy blacking and 
neckties and white shirts, and to patronize the barber. 

No one had any opportunity for love-making, for the 
lady’s working hours were all spent in public, and in a busi- 
ness which caused frequent interruptions of even the most 
agreeable conversation. 

It soon became understood that certain men had proposed 
and been declined, and betting on who would finally capture 
the lady was the most popular excitement in camp. 

Cool-headed betting men watched closely the counte- 
nance of Sunrise (as some effusive miner had named the new 
cashier) as each man approached to pay in his coin or dust, 
and though they were intensely disgusted by its revelations, 
they unhesitatingly offered two to one that Dominie would 
be the fortunate man. 

To be sure, she saw less of the Dominie than of any one 
else, for, though he did not drink, or pay for the liquor con- 
sumed by any one else, he occasionally came in to get a 
large coin changed, and then it was noticed that Sunrise re- 
garded him with a sort of earnestness which she never ex- 
hibited toward any one else. 

“ Too bad !” sighed Cairo Jake. “ Somebody ort to tell 
her that he’s only a preacher, an’ she’ll only throw herself 
away ef she takes him. Ef any stranger wuz to insult her> 
Dominie wouldn’t be man ’nuff to draw on him.” 


210 “ HOW TREACHERS KIN TAKE FOLKS IN.” 

“ Beats tliunder, tliougli !” sighed Bedbank, “ how them 
preachers kin take folks in. Thar’s Chestnut himself, lies 
took with Dominie— ’stead of orderin’ him out, he talks with 
him an’ her just ez ef he’d as lieve get rid of her as not. 

“ Boat’s a-comin’ !” shouted Cairo Jake, looking toward 



the place, half a mile below, where the creek emptied into 
the river. “ See her smoke ? Like ’nutf Tom Chafflin’s on 
board. He wuz a-goin’ to try to come back by the first boat, 
an’ of course he’s done it — ^jest his luck. Ef he’d only come 


WHAT HE WENT TO ’FRISCO TO LOOK FOR. 


211 


sooner, somebody besides the preacher would hev got her — 
you kin just bet your bottom ounce on it. Let’s go down an’ 
see ef he’s got any news.” 

Several miners dropped tools and pans, and followed Jake 
to the landing, and gave a hearty welcome to Tom Chafflin. 

He certainly looked like anything but a lucky man ; he 
was good-looking, and seemed smart, but his face wore a 
dismal expression, which seemed decidedly out of place on 
the countenance of a habitually lucky man. 

‘‘ Things hain’t gone right, Tom ?” asked Cairo Jake. 

“ Never went worse,” declared Tom, gloomily. “ Guess 
I’ll sell out, an’ try my luck somewheres else.” 

“ Ef you’d only come a little sooner !” sighed Jake, “ you’d 
^ hev hed a chance that would hev made ev’rything seem to go 
right till Judgment Hay. I’ll show yer.” 

Jake opened the saloon-door, and there sat Sunrise, as 
! bright, modest, and pleasant-looking as ever. 

With the air of a man who has conferred a great benefit, 
and is calmly awaiting his rightful reward, Jake turned to 
Tom ; but his expression speedily changed to one of hope- 
less wonder, and then to one of delight, as Tom Chafflin 
: walked rapidly up to the cashier’s desk, pushed the Dominie 
i one side and the little scales the other, and gave Sunrise sev- 
eral very hearty kisses, to which the lady didn’t make the 
slightest objection — in fact, she blushed deeply, and seemed 
very happy. 

“ That’s what I went to ’Frisco to look for,” explained 
I Tom, to the staring bystander, “ but I couldn’t find out a 
word about her.” 

' “ Don’t wonder yer looked glum, then,” said Cairo Jake ; 

“but — but it’s jest your luck !” 

I “ Dominie here was going down to hurry you back,” 

I said Sunrise ; “ but ” 

I “ But we’ll give him a different job now, my dear,” said 
Tom, completing the sentence. 

I And they did. 


OLD TWITCHETT’S TKEASUEE. 


O LD TWITCHETT was in a very bad way. He must 
have been in a bad way, for. Crockey, the extremely 
mean storekeeper at Bender, had given up his own bed to I 
Twitchett, and when Crockey was moved with sympathy 
for any one, it was a sure sign that the object of his com- 
miseration was going to soon stake a perpetual claim in a 
distant land, whose very streets, we are told, are of precious 
metal, and whose walls and gates are of rare and beautiful i 
stones. 

It was Twitchett’s own fault, the boys said, with much 
sorrowful profanity. When they abandoned Black Peter 
Gulch to the Chinese, and located at Bender, Twitchett ! 
should have come along with the crowd, instead of staying 
there by himself, in such an unsociable way. Perhaps he ^ 
preferred the society of rattlesnakes and horned toads to 
that of high-toned, civilized beings — there was no account- 
ing for tastes — ^but then he should have remembered that 
all the rattlesnakes in the valley couldn’t have raised 
a single dose of quinine between them, and that the 
most sociable horned toad in the world, and the most 
obliging one, couldij^ fry a sick man’s pork, or make his 
coffee. ^ 

But, then, Twitchett was queer, they agreed — he always 
was queer. He kept himself so much apart from the crowd, 
that until to-night, when the boys were excited about him, 
few had ever noticed that he was a white-haired, delicate 


THE BURIED TREASURE. 


213 


young man, instead of a decrepit old one, and tliat the 
twitching of his lips was rather touching than comical. 

At any rate it was good for Twitchett that two old resi- 
dents of Black Peter Gulch had, ignorant of the abandon- 
ment of the camp, revisited it, and accidentally found him 
insensible, yet alive, on the floor of his hut. They had 
taken turns in carrying him — for he was wasted and light — 
until they reached Crockey’s store, and when they laid him 
down, while they should drink, the proprietor of the estab- 
lishment (so said a pessimist in the camp), seeing that his 
presence, while he lived, and until he was buried, would at- 
tract trade and increase the demand for drinks, insisted on 
putting Twitchett between the proprietary blankets. 

Twitchett had rallied a little, thanks to some of Crockey’s 
best brandy, but it was evident to those who saw him that 
when he left Crockey’s he would be entirely unconscious of 
the fact. Suddenly Twitchett seemed to realize as much him- 
self, and to imagine that his exit might be made very soon, 
for he asked for the men who brought him in, and motioned 
to them to kneel beside him. 

“I’m very grateful, boys, for your kindness — I wish 1 
could reward you ; but haven’t got anything — I’ve got 
nothing at all. The only treasure I had I buried — buried it 
in the hut, when I thought I was going to die alone — I 
didn’t wan’t those heathens to touch it. I put it in a can — I 
wish you’d git it, and— it’s a dying man’s last request — take 
it — and ” 

If Twitchett finished his remark, it was heard only by 
auditors in some locality yet unvisited by Sam Baker and 
Boylston Smith, who still knelt beside the dead man’s face, 
and with averted eyes listened for the remainder of Twit^ 
chett’s last sentence. > 

Slowly they comprehended that Twitchett was in a con- 
dition which, according to a faithful proverb, effejctually 
precluded the telling of tales; then they gazed solemnly 
into each other’s faces, and each man placed his dexter fore- 
finger upon his lips. Then Boylston Smith whispered : 


214 - 


couldn’t go back on the cokpse. 


“ Virtue is its own reward — hey, Sam ?” 

“ You bet,” whispered Mr. Baker, in reply. “ It’s on the 
square now, between us ?” 

“ Square as a die,” whispered Boylston. 

“ When’ll we go for it?” asked Sam Baker. 

“Can’t go till after the fun’ril,” virtuously whispered 
Boylston. “ ’Twould be mighty ungrateful to go back on 
the corpse that’s made our fortunes.” 

“ Fact,” remarked Mr. Baker, holding near the nostrils 
of Old Twitchett a pocket-mirror he had been polishing on 
his sleeve. After a few seconds he examined the mirror, 
and whispered : 

“Nary a sign — might’s well tell the boys.” 

The announcement of Twitchett’s death was the signal 
for an animated discussion and considerable betting. How 
much dust he had washed, and what he had done with it, 
seeing that he neither drank nor gambled, was the sole 
theme of discussion. There was no debate on the deceased’s 
religious evidences — no distribution of black crape — no 
tearful beating down of the undertaker ; these accessories of 
a civilized deathbed were all scornfully disregarded by the 
bearded men who had feelingly drank to Twitchett’s good 
luck in whatever world he had gone to. But when it came 
to deceased’s gold — his money — the bystanders exhibited an 
interest which was one of those touches of nature which 
certifies the universal kinship. j 

Each man knew all about Twitchett’s money, though no 
two agreed. He had hid it — he had been unlucky, and had 
not found much — he had slyly sent it home — he had wasted 
it by sending it East for lottery tickets which always drew 
blanks — he had been supporting a benevolent institution. , 
Old Deacon Baggs mildly suggested that perhaps he only j 
washed out such gold as he actually needed to purchase 
eatables with, but the boys smiled derisively — they didn’t 
like to laugh at the deacon’s gray hairs, but he was queer. ] 

Old Twitchett was buried, and Sam Baker and Boylston 
Smith reverently uncovered with the rest of the boys, while 


OLD TWITCHETT’s ADMINISTRATORS. 


215 


Deacon Baggs made an extempore prayer. But for tlie re- 
j mainder of the day Old Twitchett’s administrators foamed 
restlessly about, and watched each other narrowly, and 
listened to the conversation of every group of men who 
seemed to be talking with any spirit ; they kept a sharp eye 
I on the trail to Black Peter Gulch, lest some unscrupulous 
[ miner should suspect the truth and constitute himself sole 
legatee. 

! But when the shades of evening had gathered, and a few 
I round drinks had stimulated the citizens to more spirited 
, discussion, Sam and Boylston strode rapidly out on the 
Black Peter Gulch trail, to obtain the reward of virtue. 

“ He didn’t say what kind of a can it was,” remarked 
Mr. Baker, after the outskirts of Bender had been left 
behind. 

“Just what I thought,” replied Boylston; “pity he 
couldn’t hev lasted long enough for us to hev asked him. 
But I’ve been a-workin’ some sums about different kinds of 
cans — I learned how from Phipps, this afternoon — he’s been 
to college, an’ his head’s cram-full of sech puzzlin’ things. 
It took multiplyin’ with four figures to git the answer, but I 
couldn’t take a peaceful drink till I knowed somethin’ ’bout 
how the find would pan out.” 

“Well?” inquired Mr. Baker, anathematizing a stone 
over which he had just stumbled. 

“Well,” replied Boylston, stopping in an exasperating 
manner to light his pipe, “ the smallest can a-goin’ is a half- 
i pound powder-can, and that’ll hold over two thousand dol- 
lars worth — even that wouldn’t be bad for a single night’s 
work — eh ?” 

“ Just so,” responded Mr. Baker ; “ then there’s oyster- 
cans an’ meat-cans.” 

“ Yes,” said Boylston, “ an’ the smallest of ’em’s good 
fur ten thousand, ef it’s full. An’ when yer come to five- 
pcrund powders — why, one of them would make two fellers 
rich !” 

They passed quickly and quietly through Greenhorn’s 


216 


ONE BET NOW. 


Bar. The diggings at the Bar were very rich, and experi- 
enced poker-players, such as were Twitchett’s executors, 
had made snug little sums in a single night out of the 
innocent countrymen who had located at the Bar ; but what 
were the chances of the most brilliant game to the splendid 
certainty which lay before them ? 

They, reached Black Peter Gulch and found Twitchett’s 
hut still unoccupied, save by a solitary, rattlesnake, whose 
warning scared them not. Mr. Baker carefully covered the 
single window with his coat, and then Boylston lit a candle 
and examined the clay floor. There were several little 
depressions in its surface, and in each of these Boylston 
vigorously drove his pick, while Mr. Baker stood outside 
alternately looking out for would-be disturbers, and looking 
in through a crack in the door to see that his partner should 
not, in case he found the can, absentmindedly spill some of 
the contents into his own pocket before he made a formal 
division. 

Boylston stopped a moment for breath, leaned on his 
pick, stroked his yellow beard thoughtfully, and offered to 
bet that it would be an oyster-can. Mr. Baker whispered 
through the crack that he would take that bet, and make it 
an ounce. 

Boylston again bent to the labor, which, while it wearied 
his body, seemed to excite his imagination, for he paused 
long enough to bet that it would be a five-pound powder- 
can, and Mr. Baker, again willing to fortify himself against 
possible loss, accepted the bet in ounces. 

Suddenly Boylston’s pick brought to light something I 
yellow and round — something the size of an oyster-can, and 
wrapped in a piece of oilskin. 

“ You’ve won om bet,” whispered Mr. Baker, who was 
inside before the yellow package had ceased rolling across 
the floor. 

“ Not ef this is it,” growled Boylston ; “ it don’t weigh 
more’n ounce can, wrapper and alL Might’s well see what 
’tis, though.” 


217 


GOLD, NOT LOOKED FOR. 

The two men approached the candle, hastily tore off the 
oilskin, and carefully shook the contents from the can. The 
contents proved to be a small package, labeled : only 

treasures^ 

Boylston mentioned the name of the arch-adversary of 
souls, while Mr. Baker, with a well-directed blow of his 
heel, reduced the can from a cylindrical form to one not 
easily described by any geometric term. 

Unwrapping the package, Mr. Baker discovered a 
picture-case, which, when opened, disclosed the features of 
a handsome young lady ; while from the wrappings fell a 
small envelope, which seemed distended in the middle. 

“ Gold in that, mebbe,” suggested Boylston, picking it 
up and opening it. It was gold ; fine, yellow, and brilliant, 
but not the sort of gold the dead man’s friends were seeking, 
for it was a ringlet of hair. 

Sadly Mr. Baker put on his coat, careless of the light 
which streamed through the window ; slowly and sorely 
they wended their way homeward ; wrathfully they bemoaned 
their wasted time, as they passed by the auriferous slum- 
berers of Greenhorn’s Bar; depressing was the general 
nature of their conversation. Yet they were human in spite 
of their disappointment, for, as old Deacon Baggs, who was 
an early riser, strolled out in the gray dawn for a quiet season 
of meditation, he saw Boylston Smith filling up a little hole 
he had made on top of Old Twitchett’s grave, and putting 
the dirt down very tenderly with his hands. 


BLIZZEE’S WIFE. 


T he mining-camp of Tongh Case, tliongli small, had its 
excitements, as well as did many camps of half a dozen 
saloon-power ; and on the first day of November, 1850, it 
was convulsed by the crisis of by far the greatest excitement 
it had ever enjoyed. 

It was not a lucky “ find,” for some of the largest nuggets 
in the State had been taken out at Tough Case. It was not 
a grand spree, for all sprees at Tough Case were grand, 
and they took place every Sunday. It was not a fight, for 
when the average of fully-developed fights fell below one a 
fortnight, some patriotic citizen would improvise one, that 
the honor of his village should not suffer. 

No ; all these promoters of delicious and refreshing 
tumult were as nothing to the agitation which, commencing 
three months before, had increased and taken firmer hold of 
all hearts at Tough Case, until to-day it had reached its cul- 
mination. 

Blizzer’s wife had come out, and was to reach camp by that 
day’s boat. 

Since Blizzer had first announced his expectation, every 
man in camp had been secretly preparing for the event ; but 
to-day all secrecy was at an end, and white shirts, standing 
collars, new pants, black hats, polished boots, combs, brushes 
and razors, and even hair-oil and white handkerchiefs, so 
transformed the tremulous miners, that a smart detective 
would have been puzzled in looking for any particular citi- 
zen of Tough Case. 


GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 


219 


Even old Hatchetjaw, whose nickname correctly indi- 
cated the moral import of his countenance, sheepishly gave 
Moosoo, the old Frenchman, an ounce of gold-dust for an 
hour’s labor bestowed on Hatchetjaw’s self-asserting red hair. 

Bets as to what she looked like were numerous ; and, as 
no one had the slightest knowledge on the subject, experi- 
enced bettists made handsome fortunes in betting against 
every description which was backed by money. For each 
man had so long pondered over the subject, that his ideal 
portrait seemed to him absolutely correct ; and an amateur 
phrenologist, who had carefully studied Blizzer’s cranium and 
the usually accepted laws of affinity, consistently bet his last 
ounce, his pistol, hut, frying-pan, blankets, and even a pack 
of cards in a tolerable state of preservation. 

Sailors, collegemen. Pikes, farmers, clerks, loafers, and 
sentimentalists, stood in front of Sim Bipson’s store, and 
stared their eyes into watery redness in vain attempts to 
hurry the boat. 

A bet of drinks for the crowd, lost by the non-arrival of 
the boat on time, was just being paid, when Sim Kipson, 
whose bar-window commanded the river, exclaimed ; 

“ She’s cornin’ !” 

Many were the heeltaps left in glasses as the crowd hur- 
ried to the door ; numerous were the stealthy glances be- 
stowed on shirt-cuffs and finger-nails and boot-legs. Cross- 
tree, a dandyish young sailor, hung back to regard himself 
in a small fragment of looking-glass he carried in his pocket, 
but was rebuked for his vanity by stumbling over the door- 
sill — an operation which finally resulted in his nose being 
laid up in ordinary. 

The little steamer neared the landing, whistled shrilly, 
snorted defiantly, buried her nose in the muddy bank in 
front of the store, and shoved out a plank. 

Several red-shirted strangers got off, but no one noticed 
them ; at any other time, so large an addition to the popu- 
lation of Tough Case would have justified an extra spree. . 

Sundry barrels were rolled out, but not even old Guzzle 


220 


A SEVERE DISAPPOINTMENT. 


inspected the brand ; barrels and bags of onions and pota- 
toes were stacked on the bank, but though the camp was 
sadly in need of vegetables, no one expressed becoming ex- 
ultation. 

All eyes were fixed on the steamer-end of the gang-plank, 
and every heart beat wildly as Blizzer appeared, leading a 
figure displaying only the top of a big bonnet and a blanket- 
shawl hanging on one arm. 

They stepped on the gang-plank, they reached the 
shore, and then the figure raised its head and dropped the 
shawl. 

“Thunder!” ejaculated Fourteenth Street, and immedi- 
ately retired and drank himself into a deplorable condition. 

The remaining observers dispersed respectfully ; but the 
reckless manner in which they wandered through mud-pud- 
dles and climbed over barrels and potato-sacks, indicated 
plainly that their disappointment had been severe. 

After another liquid bet had been paid, and while sitje- 
but lately tenderly protected were carelessly drying damp 
mustaches, an old miner remarked : 

“Beckon that’s why he left the States;” and the em- 
phatic “ You bet I” which followed his words showed that 
the Tough Caseites were unanimous on the subject of Mrs. 
Blizzer. 

For she was short and fat, and had a pug nose, and a 
cast in one eye ; her forehead was low and square, and her 
hair was of a color which seemed “ fugitive,” as the paper- 
makers say. Her hands were large and pudgy, her feet 
afforded broad foundations for the structure above them, and 
her gait was not suggestive of any popular style. Besides, 
she seemed ten years older than her husband, who was not 
yet thirty. 

For several days boots were allowed to grow rusty and 
chins unshaven, as the boys gradually drank and worked 
themselves into a dumb forgetfulness of their lately cherished 
ideals. 

But one evening, during a temporary lull in the conver- 


A MARKED IMPROVEMENT IN BLIZZER. 221 

sation at Sim Ripson’s, old Uncle Ben, ex-deacon of a New 
Hampshire church, lifted up his voice, and remarked : 

“ ’Pears to me Blizzer’s beginnin’ to look scrumptious. 
He used to be the shabbiest man in camp.” 

Through the open door the boys saw Blizzer carrying a 
pail of water ; and though water-carrying in the American 
manner is not an especially graceful performance, Blizzer cer- 
tainly looked unusually neat. 

Palette, who had spoiled many canvases and paint- 
brushes in the East, attentively studdied Blizzer in detail, 
and found his hair was combed, his shirt buttoned at the 
collar, and his trowsers lacking the California soil which 
always adorns the seat and knees of orthodox mining panta- 
loons. 

“ It’s her as did it,” said Pat Fadden ; “ an’ ’tain’t all 
she’s done. Fhat d’ye tink she did dhis mornin’ ? I was a- 
fixin’ me pork, jist as ivery other bye in camp allers does it, 
an’ jist then who should come along but hersilf. I tuk off 
me pork, and comminced me breakfast, when sez she to me, 
sez she, ‘ Ye don’t ate it widout gravy, do ye ?’ ‘ Gravy, is 

it?’ sez I. Nobody iver heard of gravy here,’ sez I. ‘Thin 
it’s toime,’ sez she, an’ she poured off the fat, an’ crumbled a 
bit of cracker in the pan, an’ put in some wather, an’ whin I 
thought the ould thing ’ud blow up for the shteam it made, 
she poured the gravy on me plate — ^yes, she did.” 

There were but a few men at Tough Case who were not 
willing to have their daily fare improved, and as Mrs. Bliz- 
zer did not make a tour of instruction, the boys made it con- 
venient to stand near Mrs. Blizzer’s own fire, and see the 
mysteries of cooking. 

As a natural consequence, Sim Bipson began to have in- 
quiries for articles which he had never heard of, much less 
sold, and he found a hurried trip to ’Frisco was an actual 
business necessity. 

As several miners took their departure, after one of these 
culinary lessons, Arkansas Bill, with a mysterious air, took 
Fourteenth Street aside. 


222 ** SKE SAID he’d STOrrED playin’.’* 

“ Forty,” said he, in a most appealing tone, “ ken you see 
what ’twas about? She kep’ a-lookin’ at my left han’ a^l 
the time, ez ef she thort there wuz somethin’ the matter with 
it. Mebbe she thort I was tuckin’ biscuits up my sleeves, 
like keerds in a live game. Ken you see any thin’ the mat- 
ter with that paw ?” 

The aristocratic young reprobate gave the hand a criti- 
cal glance, and replied : 

“ Perhaps she thought you didn’t know what buttons and 
buttonholes were made for.” 

“ Thunder !” exclaimed the miner, with an expression of 
countenance which Archimedes might have worn when he 
made his famous discovery. 

From that day forward the gentleman from Arkansas in- 
stituted a rigid buttonhole inspection before venturing from 
his hut, besides purchasing a share in a new clothes - 
broom. 

“ ’Pears to me I don’t see Blizzer playin’ keerds wii-h you 
fellers ez much ez he wuz,” remarked Uncle Ben even- 
ing at the store. 

“No,” said Flipp, the champion euchre-player, with a sad 
face and a strong oath. “ He used to lose his ounces like a 
man. But t’other night I knocked at his door, and asked 
him to come down an’ hev ahan’. He didn’t say nothin’, but 
she up an’ sed he’d stopped playin’. I reely tuk it to be my 
duty to argy with her, an’ show her how tough it wuz to cut 
off a feller’s enjoyment ; but she sed ’twas too high-priced 
fur the fun it fetched.” 

“ That ain’t the wust, nuther,” said Topjack Flipp’s usual 
partner. “ There wuz Arkansas Bill an’ Jerry Miller, thet 
used to be ez fond of ther little game ez anybody. Now, 
ev’ry night they go up ,thar to Blizzer’ s, an’ jest do nothin’ 
but sit aroun’ an’ talk. It’s enough to make a marble statoo 
cuss to see good men spiled that way.” 

“ Somethin’ ’stonishin’ ’bout what comes of it, though,” 
resumed the deacon. “ ’Twas only yestiddy thet Bill ’svas 
kerryin’ a bucket of dirt to the crick, an’ jest ez he got there 


NO WOKK ON SUNDAY. 


223 


liis foot slipped in, an’ he went kerslosh. Xnowin’ Dill’s 
language on secli occasions ain’t whab a church-member ort 
to hear, I was makin’ it convenient to leave, when along come 
/ter, an’ he choked off ez suddin ez a feller on the gallers.” 

Day by day the boys dug dirt, and carried it to the 
creek, and washed out the precious gold ; day by day the 
denizens of Tough Case worked as many hours and as indus- 
triously as men anywhere. But no Tough Caseite was so 
wicked as to work on Sunday. 

Sunday at Tough Case commenced at sunset on Satur- 
day, after the good old Puritan fashion, and lasted through 
until working-time on .Monday morning. But beyond this 
matter of time the Puritan parallel could not be pursued, 
for on Sunday was transacted all the irregular business of 
the week ; on Sunday was done all the hard drinking and 
heavy gambling ; and on Sunday were settled such personal 
difficulties as were superior to the limited time and low 
liquor-pressure of the week. 

The evening sun of the first Saturday of Mrs. Blizzer’s 
residence at Tough Case considered his day’s work done, 
and retired under the snowy coverlets the Sierras lent him. 
The tired miners gladly dropped pick, shovel, and pan, but 
bedclothing was an article which at that momeilt they 
scorned to consider ; there was important business and en- 
tertainment, which would postpone sleep for many hours. 

The express would be along in the morning, and no pru- 
dent man could sleep peaceably until he had deposited his 
gold dust in the company’s strong box. Then there were 
two or three old feuds which might come to a head — they 
always did on Sunday. And above all, Bedwing, a man with 
enormous red whiskers, had been threatening all week to 
have back the money Flipp had won from him on the pre- 
ceding Sunday, and Kedwing had been very lucky in his 
claim all week, and the two men were very nearly matched, 
and were magnificent players, so the game promised to last 
many hours, and afford handsome opportunities for outside 
betting. 


224 NO ARISTOCRATS, PAUTERS, OR CLIQUES. 

Sim Eipson understood liis business. By sunset lie bad 
all bis bottles freshly filled, and all bis empty boxes distri- 
buted about tbe room for seats, and twice as many candles 
lighted as usual, and tbe card-tables reinforced by some up- 
turned barrels. He also bad a neat little woodpile under tbe 
bar, to serve as a barricade against stray shots. 

Tbe boys dropped in pleasantly, two or three at a time^ 
and drank merrily with each other ; and tbe two or three 
who were not drinking men sauntered in to compare notes 
with tbe others. 

There were no aristocrats or paupers at Tough Case, nor 
any cliques ; whatever the men were at home, here they were 
equal, and Sim Eipson’s was the general gathering-place for 
everybody. 

But in the course of two or three hours there was a per- 
ceptible change of the general tone at Sim Bipson’s — it was 
so every Saturday night, or Sunday morning. Old Hatchet- 
jaw said it was because Sim Eipson’s liquor wasn’t good ; 
Moosoo, the Frenchman, maintained it was due to the ab- 
sence of chivalrous spirit ; Crosstree, the sailor, said it 
was always so wdth landsmen ; Fourteenth Street privately 
confided to several that ’twas because there was no good 
blood in camp ; the amateur phrenologist ascribed it to an 
undue cerebral circulation ; and Uncle Ben, the deacon, in- 
sisted upon it that the fiend, personally, was the disturbing 
element. 

Probably all of them were right, for it seemed impossible 
that the Sunday excitements at Sim Eipsons’s could proceed 
from any single cause — their proportions were too magnifi- 
cent. 

Drinking, singing, swearing, gambling, and fighting, the 
Tough Caseites made night so hideous that Uncle Ben spent 
half the night in earnest prayer for these misguided men, 
and the remainder of it in trying to make up his mind to 
start for home. 

But by far the greater number of the boys, on that par- 
ticular night, surrounded the table at which sat Eedwing 


‘*YER TUK THAT ACE OUT OP YER SLEEVE.” 225 

and Flip. Both were playing their best, and as honestly as 
each was compelled to do by his adversary’s watchfulness. 

Each had several times accused the other of cheating ; 
each had his revolver at his right hand ; and the crowd about 
them had the double pleasure of betting on the game and on 
which would shoot first. 

Suddenly Kedwing arose, as Flipp played an ace on his 
adversary’s last card, and raked the dust toward himself. 

“ Yer tuk that ace out of yer sleeve — seed yer do it. 
Give me back my ounces,” said Redwing. 

“ It’s a lie !” roared the great Flipp, springing to his feet, 
and seizing Redwing’s pistol-arm. 

The weapon fell, and both men clutched like tigers. Sim 
Ripson leaped over the bar and separated them. 

“ No rasslin’ here !” said he. “ When gentlemen gits too 
Jiad to hold in, an’ shoots at sight, I hev to stan’ it, but 
rasslin’s vulgar — you’ll hev to go out o’ doors to do it.” 

“ I’ll hev it out with him with pistols, then !” cried Red- 
wing, picking up his weapon. 

“’Greed!” roared Flip, whose pistol lay on the table. 
“We’ll do it cross the crick, at daylight. 

. “ It’s daylight now,” said Sim Ripson, hurriedly, after 
looking out of his window at the end of the bar. 

He was a good storekeeper, was Sim Ripson, and he knew 
how to mix drinks, but he had an unconquerable aversion to 
washing blood stains out of the floor. 

The two gamblers rushed out of the door, pistols in hand, 
and the crowd followed, each man talking at the top of his 
voice, and betting on the chances of the combatants. 

Suddenly, above all the noise, they heard a cracked 
soprano voice singing with some unauthorized flatting and 
sharping : 

“ Another six days’ work is done, 

Another Sabbath is begun. 

Return, my soul, enjoy thy rest, 

Improve the day thy God has blessed.” 


Redwing stopped, and dropped his head to one side, as 


226 CONVEBTING JIBS. BLTZZEB fO COMMON SENSE. 

if expecting more ; Flipp stopped ; everybody did. Arkan- 
sas Bill, whose good habits had been laid aside late Satur- 
day afternoon, exclaimed : 

“ Well, I’ll be blowed !” 

Bill didn’t mean anything of the sort, but the tone in 
which he said it expressed precisely the feeling of the crowd. 
The voice was again heard : 

“ Oh, that our thoughts and thanks may rise, 

As grateful incense to the skies ; 

And draw from heaven that sweet repose 
Which none but he that feels it knows.” 

Kedwing turned abruptly on his heel. 

“ Keep the ounces,” said he. “ Ther’s an old woman to 
hum that thinks a sight o’ me — reckon, myself. I’m good 
fur somethin’ besides fillin’ a hole in the ground.” 

That night Sim Bipson complained that it had been the 
poorest Sunday he had ever had at Tough Case ; the boys 
drank, but it was a sort of nerveless, unbusinesslike way 
that Sim Bipson greatly regretted ; and very few bets were 
settled in Sim Bipson’s principal stock in trade. 

When Sim finally learned the cause ot his trouble, he 
promptly announced his intention of converting Mrs. Bliz- 
zer to common sense, and as he had argued Uncle Ben, first 
into a perfect frenzy and then into silence, the crowd consid- 
ered Mrs. Blizzer’s faith doomed. 

Monday morning, bright and early, as men with aching 
heads were taking their morning bitters, Mrs. Blizzer ap- 
peared at Sim Bipson’s store, and purchased a bar of soap. 

“ Bovs heerd ye singin’ yesterday,” said Sim. 

“Yes?” inquired Mrs. Blizzer. 

“ Yes — all of ’em delighted,” said Sim, gallantly. “ But 
ye don’t believe in no sich stuff, I s’pose, do ye ?” 

“What stuff?” asked Mrs. Blizzer. 

‘‘ Why, ’bout heaven an’ hell, an’ the Bible, an’ all them 
things. Do ye know what the Greek fur hell meant ? An* 
do ye know the Bible’s all the time contradictin’ itself ?” I 
can show ye ” 


“ FOURTEENTH STREET ” ASTONISHES THE CROTO.. 227 

I tell you what I do know, Mr. Eipson,” said the woman ; 
“I know some things in my heart that no mortal bein’ never 
told me, an’ they couldn’t be skeered out by all the diction- 
aries an’ commentators a-goin ; that’s what I know.” 

And Mrs. Blizzer departed, while the astonished theolo- 
gian sheepishly admitted that he owed drinks to the crowd. 

While the ex-deacon, Uncle Ben, was trying to deter- 
mine to go home, he found quite a pretty nugget that seb 
tied his mind, and he announced that same night, at the 
store, that all his mining property was for sale, as he was 
going back East. 

“ ril go with you, Uncle Ben,” said Fourteenth Street. 

The crowd was astounded ; men of Fourteenth Street’s 
calibre seldom had pluck enough to go to the mines, and 
their getting away, or their doing any thing that required 
manliness, was of still more unfrequent occurrence. 

“ I know it,” said the young man, translating the glances 
which met his eye. “ You fellows think I don’t amount to 
much, anyway. Perhaps I don’t. I came out here because 
I fell out with a girl I thought I loved. She acted like a 
fool, and I made up my mind all women were fools. But 
that wife of Blizzer’s has shown me more about true 
womanliness than all the girls I ever knew, and I’m going 
back to try it over again.” 

One morning a small crowd of early drinkers at Sim 
Eipson’s dropped their glasses, yet did not go briskly out 
to work as usual. In fact, they even hung aloof, in a most 
ungentlemanly manner, from Jerry Miller, who had just 
stood treat, and both these departures from the usual cus- 
tom indicated that something unusual was the matter. 
Finally, Topjack remarked : 

“ He’s a stranger, an’ typhus is a bad thing to hev aroun’, 
but somethin' ’ort to be done for him. ’Taint the thing to 
ax fur volunteers, fur it’s danger without no chance of pleas- 
in’ excitement. We might throw keerds aroun’, one to each 
feller in the camp, and him as gets ace of spades is to tend 
to the poor cuss.” 

“I think Jerry ouglit to go himself,” argued Flipp. 


228 ** needn’t trouble yerselves, she’s thar.” 

**He*s been exposed already, by lookin’ in to the feller’s 
sbanty, an’s prob’bly hurt ez bad as he’s goin’ to be.” 

“ I might go,” said Sim Eipson, who, in his character of 
barkeeper, had to sustain a reputation for bravery and pub- 
lic spirit, “ but ’twouldn’t do to shut up the store, ye know, 
an’ specially the bar — nobody’d stan’ it.” 

“Needn’t trouble yerselves,” said Arkansas Bill, Avhohad 
entered during the conversation; she's thar.” 

“ Thunder !” exclaimed Topjack, frowning, and then look- 
ing sheepish. 

“ Yes,” continued Bill ; “ she stopped me ez I wuz corn- 
in’ along, an’ sed she’d jist heerd of it, an’ was a-goin’. I 
tol’ her ther’ wuz men enough in camp to look out fur him, 
but she said she reckoned she could do it best. Wants 
some things from ’Frisco, though, an’ I’m a-goin’ for ’em.” 

And Arkansas Bill departed, while the men at Sim Kip- 
son’s sneaked guiltily down to the creek. 

For many days the boys hung about the camp’s single 
street every morning, unwilling to go to work until they 
had seen Mrs. Blizzer appear in front of the sick man’s hui 
The boys took turns at carrying water, making fires, and 
serving Mrs. Blizzer generally, and even paid handsomely 
for the chance. 

One morning Mrs. Blizzer failed to appear at the usual 
hour. The boys walked about nervously — they smoked 
many pipes, and took hurried drinks, and yet she did not 
appear. The boys looked suggestingly at her husband, and 
he himself appeared to be anxious; but being one of the 
shiftless kind, he found anxiety far easier than action. 

Suddenly Arkansas Bill remarked, “ I can’t stan’ it any 
longer,” and walked rapidly toward the sick man’s hut, and 
knocked lightly on the door, and looked in. There lay the 
sick man, his eyes partly open, and on the ground, appar- 
ently asleep, and with a very purple face, lay Mrs. Blizzer. 

“ Do somethin’ for her,” gasped the sick man ; “ give 
her a chance, for God’s sake. I don’t know how long I’ve 
been here, but I kind o’ woke up las’ night ez ef I’d been 



THE NURSE A PATIENT. 2^9 

asleep ; slie wuz a-stanclin’ lookin’ in my eyes, an’ lied a nan* 
on my cheek. ‘ I b’lieve it’s turned,’ sez she, still a-lookin’. 
After a bit she sez : ‘ It’s turned sure,’ an’ all of a sudden 
she tumbled. I couldn’t holler — I wish to God I could.” 
Arkansas Bill opened the door, and called Blizzer, and 


ARKANSAS BILL KNOCKED LIGHTLY ON THE I'OOB, AND LOOKED IN. THELE LAV 
THE SICK MAN, HIS EYES PARTLY OPEN. ‘.ND ON THE GROUND, APPARENTLY 
ASLEEP, AND WITH PURPLE FACE, LAY MRS. ?LIZZER. 

the crowd followed Blizzer, though at a respectful distance. 
In a moment Blizzer reappeared with his wife, no longer 
fat, in his arms, and Arkansas Bill hurried on to open Bliz- 
zer’s door. The crowd halted, and didn’t know what to do, 
until Moosoo, the little Frenchman, lifted his hat, upon 
which every man promptly uncovered his head 


230 “ she’s mendin’ ! the fever’s, broke!” 

A moment later Arkansas Bill was on Sim Bipson’s 
horse, and galloping off for a doctor, and Sim Bipson, who 
had always threatened sudden death to any one touching 
his beloved animal, saw him, and refrained even from pro- 
fanity. The doctor came, and the boys crowded the door 
to hear what he had to say. 

“Hum 1” said the doctor, a rough miner himself, “new 
arrival — been fat — worn out — rainy season just coming on — 
not milch chance. No business to come to California — 
ought to have had sense enough to stay home.” 

“Look a’ here, doctor,” said Arkansas Bill, indignantly; 
“ she’s got this way a-nussin’ a feller — stranger, too — ^that 
ev’ry man in camp wuz afeard to go nigh.” 

“Is that so?” asked the doctor, in a tone considerably 
softened ; “ then she shall get well, if my whole time and 
attention can bring it about.” 

The sick woman lay in a burning fever for days, and the 
boys industriously drank her health, and bet heavy odds 
on her recovery. No singing was allowed anywhere in 
camp, and when an old feud broke out afresh between two 
miners, and they drew their pistols, a committee was ap- 
pointed to conduct them at least two miles from camp, be- 
fore allowing them to shoot. 

The Sundays were allowed to pass in the commonplace 
quietness peculiar to the rest of the week, and men who 
were unable to forego their regular weekly spree were com- 
pelled to emigrate. Sim Bipson, though admitting that the 
change was decidedly injurious to his business, declared 
that he would cheerfully be ruined in business rather than 
have that woman disturbed ; he was ever heard to say that, 
though of course there was no such place as heaven, there 
ought to be, for such women. 

One evening, as the crowd were quietly drinking and bet- 
ting, Arkansas Bill suddenly opened the door of the store, 
and cried : “ She’s mendin’ ! The fever’s broke — ’sh-h !” 

“ My treat, boys,” said Sim Bipson, hurrying glasses and 
favorite bottles on the bar. 


here’s to blizzer’s wife/’ 


231 


The boys were just clinking glasses with Blizzer him- 
self, who, during his wife’s absence and illness, had drifted 
back to the store, when Arkansas Bill again opened the 
door. 

“ She’s a-sinkin’, all of a sudden !” he gasped. “ Blizzer, 
yer wanted.” 

The two men hurried away, and the crowd poured out 
of the store. By the light of a fire in front of the hut in 
which the sick woman lay, they saw Blizzer enter, and 
Arkansas Bill remain outside the hut, near the door. 

The boys stood on one foot, put .their hands into their 
pockets and took them out again, snapped their fingers, and 
looked at each other, as if they wanted to talk about some- 
thing that they couldn’t. Suddenly the doctor emerged 
from the hut, and said something to Arkansas Bill, and the 
boys saw Ai’kansas Bill put both hands up to his face. 
Then the boys knew that their sympathy could help Bliz- 
zer’s wife no longer. 

Slowly the crowd re-entered the store, and mechanically 
picked up the yet untasted glasses. Sim Eipson filled a 
glass for himself, looked a second at the crowd, and dropping 
his eyes, raised them again, looked as if he had something 
to say, looked intently into his glass, as if espying some 
irregularity, looked up again, and exclaimed : 

“ Boys, it’s no use — mebbe ther’s no hell — mebbe the 
Bible contradicts itself, but — but ther is a heaven, or such 
folks would never git their just dues. Here’s to Blizzer’s 
wife, the best man in camp, an’ may the Lord send us some- 
body like her !” 

In silence, and with uncovered heads, was the toast 
drank ; and for many days did the boys mourn for her 
whose advent brought them such disappointment. 


A BOAEDING-HOUSE EOMAN 


I KEEP a boarding-liouse. 

If any fair proportion of my readers were likely to be 
members of my own profession, I should expect the above an- 
nouncement to call forth more sympathetic handkerchiefs 
than have waved in unison for many a day. But I don’t expect 
anything of the sort ; I know my business too well to sup- 
pose for a moment that any boarding-house proprietor, no 
matter how full her rooms, or how good pay her boarders 
are, ever finds time to read a story. Even if they did, they’d 
be so lost in wonder at one of themselves finding time to 
lorile a story, that they’d forget the whole plot and point of 
the thing. 

I can’t help it, though — I must tell about poor dear Mrs. 
Perry, even if I run the risk of cook’s overdoing the beef, so 
that Mr. Bluff, who is English, and the best of pay, can’t 
get the rare cut he loves so well. Mrs. Perry’s story has 
run in my head so long, that it has made me forget to take 
change from the grocer at least once to my knowledge, and 
even made me lose a good boarder, by showing a room before 
the bed was made up. They say that poets get things out of 
their heads by writing them down, and I don’t know why 
boarding-house keepers can’t, do the same thing. 

It’s about three months since Mrs. Perry came here to 
board. I’m very sure about the time, and it was the day I 
was to pay my quarter’s rent, and to-morrow will be quar- 
ter-day again ; thank the Lord I’ve got the money ready. 

I didrit have the money ready then, though, and the 
landlord left his tem^^er bshind him, instead of a receipt, 


THE NEW BOARDER. 


233 


and I was just having a little cry in my apron, and asking 
tlie Lord why it was that a poor lone woman who was work- 
ing her finger-ends off should have such a hard time, when 
the door-bell rang. 

“ That’s the landlord again. I know his ways, the mean 
wretch !” said I to myself, hastily rubbing my eyes dry, and 
making up before the mirror in the hat-tree as fierce a face 
as I could. Then I snatched open the door, and tried to 
make believe my heart toasn't in my mouth. 

But the landlord wasn’t there, and I’ve always been a 
little sorry, for I was looking so savage, that a wee little 
woman, who tvas at the door, trembled all over, and started 
to go down the steps. 

“ Don’t go, ma’am,” I said, very quickly, with the best 
smile I could put on (and I think I’ve been long enough in the 
business to give the right kind of a smile to a person that 
looks like a new boarder). “ Don’t go — I thought it was — I 
thought it was — somebody else that rang. Come in, do.” 

She looked as if I was doing her a great honor, and I 
thought that looked like poor pay, but I was too glad at not 
seeing the landlord just then to care if I did lose one 
week’s board ; besides, she didn’t look as if she could eat 
much. 

“ I see you advertise a small bedroom to let,” said she, 
looking appealing-like, as if she was going to beat me down 
on the strength of being poor. “ How much is it a week ?” 

“Eight dollars,” said I, rather sliortly. Seven dollars 
was all I expected to get, but I put on one, so as to be 
beaten down without losing anything. “I can get eight 
from a single gentleman, the only objection being that he 
wants to keep a dog in the back yard.” 

“ Oh, I’ll pay it,” said she, quickly taking out her pocket- 
book. “ I’ll take it for six weeks, anyhow.” 

I never felt so ashamed of myself in my life. I made up 
my mind to read a penitential passage of Scripture as soon 
as 1 closed the bargain with her, but, remembering the Book 
says to, be reconciled to your brother before laying your 


234 


I KNEW HER WHOLE STORY. 


gift on the altar, I says, quick as I could, for fear that if I 
thought over it again I couldn’t be honest : 

“ You shall have it for seven, my dear madame, if you’re 
going to stay so long, and I’ll do your washing without 
extra charge.” 

This last I said to punish myself for suspecting an inno- 
cent little lady. 

“Oh, thank you — thank you very much,” said she, and 
then she began to cry. 

I knew that wasn’t for effect, for we were already agreed 
on terms, and she had her pocketbook open showing more 
money that I ever have at a time, unless it’s rent-day. 

She tried to stop crying by burying her face in her 
hands, and it made her look so much smaller and so pitiful 
that I picked her right up, as if she was a baby, and kissed 
her. Then she cried harder, and I — a woman over forty, 
too — couldn’t find anything better to do than to cry with 
her. 

I knew her whole story within five minutes — ^knew it 
perfectly well before I’d fairly shown her the room and got 
it aired. 

They were from the West, and had been married about 
a year. She hadn’t a relative in the world, but his folks had 
friends in Philadelphia, so he’d got a place as clerk in a big 
clothing factory, at twelve hundred dollars a year. They’d 
been keeping house, just as cozy as could be in four rooms, 
and were as happy as anybody in the world, when one night 
he didn’t come home. 

She was almost frantic about him all night long, and first 
thing in the morning she was at the factory. She waited 
until all the clerks got there, but George — his name was 
George Perry — didn’t come. The proprietor was a good- 
hearted man, and went with her to the police-office, and they 
telegraphed all over the city ; but there didn’t seem to be 
any such man found dead or drunk, or arrested for any- 
thing. 

She hadn’t heard a word from him since. Her husband’s 


“i'll go To the POOEHOUSE FIEST.” 


235 


family’s friends were ricli — the stuck up brutes ! — but they 
seemed to be annoyed by lier coming so often to ask if there 
wasn’t any other way of looking for him, so she, like the 
modest, frightened little thing she was, staid away fiom 
them. Then somebody told her that New York was the 
place everybody went to, so she sold all her furniture and 
pawned almost all her clothes, and came to New York w'th 
about fifty dollars in her pocket. 

“ What I’ll do when that’s gone I don’t know,” said she, 
commencing to cry again, unless I find George. I won’t 
live on yoUy though, ma’am,” she said, lifting her face up 
quickly out of her handkerchief ; “ I won’t, indeed. I’ll go to 
the poorhouse first. But ” 

jThen she cried worse than before, and I cried, too, and 
took her in my arms, and called her a poor little thing, and 
told her she shouldn’t go to any poorhouse, but should stay 
with me and be my daughter. 

I don’t know how I came to say it, for, goodness knows, 
I find it hard enough to keep out of the poorhouse myself, 
but I did say it, and I meant it, too. 

Her things were all in a little valise, and she soon had 
the room to rights, and when I went up again in a few minutes 
to carry her a cup of tea, she pointed to her husband’s pic- 
ture which she had hung on the wall, and asked me if I didn’t 
think he was very handsome. 

I said yes, but I’m glad she looked at the tea instead of 
me, for I believe she’d seen by my face that I didn’t like her 
George. The fact is, men look very difierently to their 
wives or sweethearts than they do to older people and to 
boarding-house keepers. There was nothing vicious about 
George Perry’s face, but if he’d been a boarder of mine. I’d 
have insisted on my board promptly — not for fear of his 
trying to cheat me, but because if he saw anything else he 
wanted, he’d spend his money without thinking of what he 
owed. 

I felt so certain that he’d got into some mischief or 
trouble, and was afraid or ashamed to come back to his wife, 


236 


GEOKGE PERBY, AND NO MISTAKE. 


that I risked the price of three ribs of prime roasting beef 
in the following “ Personal ” advertisement : 

** George P. — ^Your wife don’t know anything about it, 
and is dying to see you. Answer through Personals.” 

But no answer came, and his wife grew more and more 
poorly, and I couldn’t help seeing what was the matter with 
her. Then her money ran out, and she talked of going away, 
but I wouldn’t hear of it. I just took her to my own room, 
which was the back parlor, and told her she wasn’t to think 
again of going away ; that she was to be my daughter, and I 
would be her mother, until she found George again. 

I was afraid, for her sake, that it meant we were to be 
with each other for ever, for there was no sign of George. 

She wrote to his family in the "West, but they hadn’t 
heard anything from him or about him, and they took pains 
not to invite her there, or even to say anything about giving 
her a helping hand. 

There was only one thing left to do, and that was to 
pray, and pray I did, more constantly and earnestly than I 
ever did before, although, the good Lord knows there have 
been times, about quarter-day, when I haven’t kept much 
peace before the Throne. 

Finally, one day Mrs. Perry was taken unusually bad, 
and the doctor had to be sent for in a hurry. We were in 
her room — the doctor and Mrs. Perry and I — I was endeavor- 
ing to comfort and strengthen the poor thing, when the ser- 
vant knocked, and said a lady and gentleman had come to 
look at rooms. 

I didn’t dare to lose boarders, for I’d had three empty 
rooms for a month, so I hurried into the parlor. I was 
almost knocked down for a second, for the gentleman was 
George Perry, and no mistake, if the picture his wife had 
was to be trusted. 

In a second more I was cooler and clearer-headed than 
I ever was in my life before. I felt more like an angel of 
the Lord than a boarding-house keeper. 


“good god! who’s that?” 237 

“Kate,*' said I, to the servant “show the lady all the 
rooms.” 

Kate stared, for I’d never trusted her, or any other 
girl, with such important work, and she knew it. She went 
though, followed by the lady, who, though she seemed a 
W’eak, silly sort of thing, I hated with all my might. Then I 
turned quickly, and said : 

“Don’t you want a room for your wife, too, George 
Perry ?’* 

He stared at me a moment, and then turned pale and 
looked confused. Then he tried to rally himself, and he 
said : 

“ You seem to know me, ma’am.” 

“ Yes,” said I ; “ and I know Mrs. Perry, too ; and if 
ever a woman needed her husband she does now, even if her 
husband is a rascal.” 

He tried to be angry, but he couldn’t. He walked up 
and down the room once or twice, his face twitching all the 
time, and then he said, a word or two at a time : 

“I wish I could — poor girl! — God forgive me! — what 
can I do ? — wish I was dead !” 

“ You wouldn’t be any use to anybody then but the Evil 
One, George Perry, and you’re not ready to see him just 
yet,” said I. 

Just then there came a low, long groan from the back- 
room, and at the same time some one came into the parlor. 
I was too excited to notice who it was ; and George Perry, 
when he heard the groan, stopped short and exclaimed : 

“ Good God ! who’s that?” 

“ Your wife,” said I, almost ready to scream, I was so • 
wrought up. 

He hid his face in his hands, and trembled all over. 

There was half a minute’s silence — it seemed half an 
hour — and then we heard a long, thin wail from a voice 
that hadn’t ever been heard on earth before. 

^ What’s that ?” said Perry, in a hoarse whisper, his eyes 
starting out of his head, and hands thrown up. 


238 


THE BABY FINDS HIS FATHER. 


“ Tour baby — just born,” said I. “ Will you take rooms 
for your family now^ George Perry ?” I asked. 

ska’ n’t stand in the way,” said a voice behind me. 

I turned around quickly, just in time to see, with her 
eyes full of tears, the woman who had come with George go 
out the door and shut the hall-door behind her. 

“ Thank God !” said George, dropping on his knees. 

Amen !” said I, hurrying out of the parlor and locking 
the door behind me. 

I thought if he wanted to pray while on his knees he 
shouldn’t be disturbed, while if he should suddenly be 
tempted to follow his late companion, I shouldn’t be held 
at the Judgment day for any share of the guilt. 

I found the doctor bustling about, getting ready to go, 
and Mrs. Perry looking very peaceful and happy, with a 
little bundle hugged up close to her. 

“I guess the Lord will bring him now^' said Mrs. Perry, 
“ if it’s only to see his little boy.” 

“ Like enough, my dear,” said I, thanking the Lord for 
opening the question, for my wits were all gone by this 
time, and I hadn’t any more idea of what to do than the 
man in the moon ; “but,” £\aid I, “ He won’t bring him till 
you’re well, and able to bear the excitement.” 

“ Oh, I could bear it any time now,” said she, very 
calmly, “It would seem just as natural as could be to 
have him come in and kiss me, and see his baby and bless 
it.” 

“Would it?” I asked, with my heart all in a dance. 
“ Well, trust the Lord to do just what’s right.” 

I hurried out and opened the parlor-door. There stood 
George Perry, changed so I hardly knew him. He seemed 
years older ; his thick lips seemed to have suddenly grown 
thin, and were pressed tightly together, and there was such 
an appealing look from his eyes. 

“ Be very careful now,” I whispered, and you may see 
them. She expects you, and don’t imagine anything haa 
gone wrong.” 


A.BSENCE FOBGOTTEN. 


239 


I took liim into tlie room, and she looked up with a face 
like what I hope the angels have. I didn’t see anything 
more, for my eyes filled up all of a sudden, so I hurried up- 
stairs into an empty room, and spent half an hour crying 
and thanking the Lord. 

There was a pretty to-do at the dinner table that day. 
I’d intended to have souffle for desert, and I always make 
my own souffles ; but I forgot everything but the Perrys, and 
the boarders grumbled awfully. 1 didn’t care, though ; I 
was too happy to feel abused. 

1 don’t know how George Perry explained his absence 
to his wife ; perhaps he hasn’t done it at all. But I know 
she seems to be the happiest woman alive, and that he don’t 
seem to care for anything in the world but his wife and 
baby. 

As to the woman who came witti him to look at a room, 
I haven’t seen her since ; but if she happens to read this 
story, she may have the consolation of knowing that there’s 
an old woman who remember^ her one good deed, and prays 
for her often and earnestly. : 


EETIEING FEOM BUSINESS. 


the colonel’s business was nobody knew, nor did 
one care, particularly. He purchased for cash 
only, and he never grumbled at the price of anything that 
he wanted ; who could ask more than that ? 

Curious people occasionally wondered how, when it had 
been fully two years since the colonel, with every one else, 
abandoned Duck Creek to the Chinese, he managed to 
spend money freely, and to lose considerable at cards and 
horse-races. In fact, the keeper of that one of the two 
Challenge Hill saloons which the colonel did not patronize 
was once heard to absentmindedly wonder whether the 
colonel hadn’t a money-mill somewhere, where he turned 
out double-eagles and “slugs” (the Coast name for fifty- 
dollar gold-pieces). 

When so important a personage as a barkeeper indulged 
publicly in an idea, the inhabitants of Challenge Hill, like 
good Californians everywhere, considered themselves in 
duty bou^ to give it grave consideration ; so, for a few days, 
certain industrious professional gentlemen, who won money i 
of the colonel, carefully weighed some of the brightest 
pieces and tested them with acids, and tasted them and i 
sawed them in two, and retried them and melted them up, 
and had the lumps assayed. 

The result was a complete vindication of the colonel, i 
and a loss of considerable custom to the indiscreet bar- 
keeper. ■ 

The colonel was as good-natured a man as had ever been 



INCONTROVERTIBLE PROPOSITIONS. 241 

known at Challenge Hill, but, being mortal, the colonel had 
his occasional times of despondency, and one of them 
occurred after a series of races, in which he had staked his 
all on his own bay mare Tipsie, and had lost. 

Looking reproachfully at his beloved animal failed to heal 
the aching void of his pockets, and drinking deeply, swear- 
ing eloquently and glaring defiantly at all mankind, were 
equally unproductive of coin. 

The boys at the saloon sympathized most feelingly with 
the colonel; they were unceasing in their invitations to 
drink, and they even exhibited considerable Christian for- 
bearance when the colonel savagely dissented with every 
one who advanced any proposition, no matter how incon- 
trovertible. 

But unappreciated sympathy grows decidedly tiresome 
to the giver, and it was with a feeling of relief that the 
boys saw the colonel stride out of the saloon, mount Tipsie, 
and gallop furiously away. 

Biding on horseback has always been considered an ex- 
cellent sort of exercise, and fast riding is universally ad- 
mitted to be one of the most healthful and delightful means 
of exhilaration in the world. 

But when a man is so absorbed in his exercise that he 
will not stop to speak to a friend ; and when his exhilaration 
is so complete that he turns his eyes from well-meaning 
thumbs pointing significantly into doorways through which 
a man has often passed while seeking bracing influences, it 
is but natural that people should express some wonder. 

The colonel was well known at Toddy Flat, Lone Hand, 
Blazers, Murderer’s Bar, and several other villages through 
which he passed, and as no one had been seen to precede 
him, betting men were soon offering odds that the colonel 
was running away from somebody. 

Strictly speaking they were wrong, but they won all 
the money that had been staked against them ; for within 
half an hour’s time there passed over the same road an 
anxious-looking individual, who reined up in front of the 


242 


OFF THE TRACK 



principal saloon of each place, and asked^if the colonel had 
passed. 

Had the gallant colonel known that he was followed, 
and by whom, there would have been an extra election held 
at the latter place very shortly after, for the colonel’s pur- 
suer was no other than the constable of Challenge Hill, and 
for constables and all other officers of the law the colonel 
possessed hatred of unspeakable intensity. 

On galloped the colonel, following the stage-road, which 
threaded the old mining camps on Duck Creek ; but sud- 
denly he turned abruptly out of the road, and urged his 
horse through the young pines and bushes, which grew 
thickly by the road, while the constable galloped rapidly 
on to the next camp. 

There seemed to be no path through the thicket into 
which the colonel had turned, but Tipsie walked between 
trees and bushes as if they were but the familiar objects of 
her own stable-yard. 

Suddenly a voice from the bushes shouted : 

“What’s up?” 

“ Business — t/iafs what,” replied the coloneL 

“ It’s time,” replied the voice, and its owner — a bearded 
six-footer — emerged from the bushes, and stroked Tipsie’s 
nose with the freedom of an old acquaintance. “We hain’t 
had a nip sence last night, an’ thar’ ain’t a cracker or a 
handful of flour in the shanty. The old gal go back on yer ?” 

“ Yes,” replied the colonel, ruefully — lost ev’ry blasted 
race. ’Twasn’t her fault, bless her — she done her level best 
Ev’rybody to home ?” 

“ You bet,” said the man. “ All ben a-prayin’ for yer to 
turn up with the rocks, an’ somethin’ with more color than 
spring water. Come on.” 

The man led the way, and Tipsie and the colonel fol- 
lowed, and the trio suddenly found themselves before a 
small log hut, in front of which sat three solemn, discon- 
solate-looking individuals, who looked appealingly at the 
coloneL 


SEKMONS THAT WERE A COMFORT. 243 

“Mao’ll tell yer how ’twas, fellers,” said the colonel, 
meekly, “ while I picket the mare.” 

The colonel was absent but a very few moments, but 
when he returned each of the four men was attired in pis- 
tols and knives, while Mac was distributing some dominoes, 
made from a rather dirty flour-bag. 

“ ’Tain’t so late as all that, is it ?” inquired the colonel. 

“ Better be an hour ahead than miss it this ’ere night,” 
said one of the four. “ I ain’t been so thirsty sence I come 
round the Horn, in ’50, an’ we run short of water. Some- 
body W. get hurt ef thar’ ain’t no bitters on the old concern — 
they will, or my name ain’t Perkins.” 

“ Don’t count yer chickings ’fore they’re hetched. 
Perky,” said one of the party, as he adjusted his domino 
under the rim of his hat. “’S’posin’ ther’ shud be too 
many for us ?” 

“ Stiddy, Cranks !” remonstrated the colonel. “ Nobody 
ever gets along ef they ’low ’emselves to be skeered.” 

“ Fact,” chimed in the smallest and thinnest man of the 
party. “ The Bible says somethin’ mighty hot ’bout that. 
I disremember dzackly how it goes ; but I’ve heerd Parson 
Buzzy, down in Maine, preach a rippin’ old sermon from 
that text many a time. The old man never thort what a 
comfort them sermons wus a-goin’ to be to a road-agent, 
though. That time we stopped Slim Mike’s stage, an’ he 
didn’t hev no more manners than to draw on me, them ser- 
mons wus a perfec’ blessin’ to me — the thought uv ’em 
cleared my head ez quick ez a cocktail. An’ ” 

“ I don’t want to disturb Logroller’s pious yarn,” inter- 
rupted the colonel ; “ but ez it’s Old Black that’s drivin’ to- 
day instid of Slim Mike, an’ ez Old Black oilers makes his 
time, hedn’t we better vamose?” 

The door of the shanty was hastily closed, and the men 
filed through the thicket until near the road, when they 
marched rapidly on parallel lines with it. After about half 
an hour, Perkins, who was leading, halted, and wiped his 
perspiring brow with his shirt-sleeve. 


244 A CHANCE TO EXEECISE WOMEN’S EIGHTS. 

“Fur enough from home now,” said he. “ ’Tain’t no use 
bein’ a gentleman ef yer hev to work too hard.” 

“Safe enough, I reckon,” replied the colonel. “We’ll do 
the usual ; I’ll halt ’em, Logroller’ll tend to the driver, 
Cranks takes the boot, an’ Mac an’ Perk takes right an’ left. 
An’ — know it’s tough — ^but consid’rin’ how everlastin’ 
eternally hard up we are, I reckon we’ll have to ask contri- 
butions from the ladies, too, ef ther’s any aboard — eh, 
boy?” 

“Beckon so,” replied Logroller, with a chuckle that 
seemed to inspire even his black domino with a merry 
wrinkle or two. “What’s the use of women’s rights ef 
they don’t ever hev a chance of exercisin’ ’em ? Hevin* 
ther purses borrowed ’ud show ’em the hull doctrine in a 
bran-new light.” 

“They’re treacherous critters, women is,” remarked 
Cranks ; “ some of ’em might put a knife into a feller while 
he was ’pologizin’.” 

“ Ef youWe afeard of ’em,” said Perkins, “ you ken go 
back an’ clean up the shanty.” 

“ Eeminds me of what the Bible sez,” said Logroller ; 
“‘there’s a lion on the trail ; I’ll be chawed up, sez the lazy 
galoot,’ ur words to that effect.” 

“ Come, come boys,” interposed the colonel ; “ don’t mix 

religion an’ bizness. They don’t mix no more than 

Hello, thar’s the crack of Old Black’s whip! Pick yer 
bushes — quick ! All jump when I whistle 1” 

Each man secreted himself near the roadside. The 
stage came swinging along handsomely ; the inside passen- 
gers were laughing heartily about something, and Old Black 
was just giving a delicate touch to the flank of the off 
leader, when the colonel gave a shrill, quick whistle, and 
the five men sprang into the road. 

The horses stopped as suddenly as if it was a matter of 
common occurrence. Old Black dropped his reins, crossed 
his legs, and stared into the sky, and the passengers all put 
out their heads with a rapidity equaled only by that with 


DECEITFULNESS OF SOME FOLKS. 245 

which they withdrew them as they saw the dominoes and 
revolvers of the road-agents. 

“ Seems to be something the matter, gentlemen,” said 
the colonel, blandly, as he opened the door. “Won’t you 
please git out ? Don’t trouble yourselves to draw, cos my 
friend here’s got his weapon cocked, an’ his fingers is rather 
nervous. Ain’t got a han’kercher, hev yer?” asked the 
colonel of the first passenger who descended from the 
stage. “Hev? Well, now, that’s lucky. Jest put yer 
hands behind yer, please — so — ^that’s it.” And the unfor- 
tunate man was securely bound in an instant. 

The remaining passengers were treated with similar 
courtesy, and then the colonel and his friends examined the 
pockets of the captives. Old Black remained unmolested, 
for who ever heard of a stage-driver having money ? 

“Boys,” said the colonel, calling his brother agents 
aside, and comparing receipts, “ ’tain’t much of a haul ; but 
there’s only one woman, an’ she’s old enough to be a feller’s 
grandmother. Better let her alone, eh ?” 

“ Like enough she’ll pan out more’n all the rest of the 
stage put together,” growled Cranks, carefully testing the 
thickness of case of a gold watch. “Jest like the low-lived 
deceitfulness of some folks, to hire an old woman to kerry 
ther money so it ’ud go safe. Mebbe what she’s got hain’t 
nothin’ to some folks thet’s got bosses thet ken win ’em 
money at races, but ” 

The colonel abruptly ended the conversation, and ap- 
proached the stage. The colonel was very chivalrous, but 
Cranks’s sarcastic reference to Tipsie needed avenging, and 
as he could not consistently with business arrangements 
put an end to Cranks, the old lady would have to suffer. 

“ I beg your parding, ma’am,” said the colonel, raising 
his hat politely with one hand, while he reopened the 
coach-door with the other, “ but we’re a-takin’ up a collec- 
tion fur some very deservin’ object. We wuz a-goin’ to 
make the gentlemen fork over the hull amount, but ez they 
hain’t got enough, we’ll hev to bother you'* 


246 


THE COLONEL MAKES A BISCOVERY. 


The old lady trembled, and felt for her pocketbook, and 
raised her vail. The colonel looked into her face, slammed 
the stage-door, and, sitting down on the hub of one of the 
wheels, stared vacantly into space. 

“Nothin’?” queried Perkins, in a whisper, and with a 
face ull of genuine sympathy. 

“No — ^yes,” said the colonel, dreamily. “That is, untie 



’em and let the stage go ahead,” he continued, springing to 
his leet. “/’ZZ hurry back to the cabin.” 

And the colonel dashed into the bushes, and left his fol- 
lowers so paralyzed with astonishment, that Old Black 
afterward remarked that, “ ef ther’d ben anybody to hold 
the bosses, he could hev cleaned out the hull crowd with 
his whip.” 


BETIKINa FROM BIZNESS. 


247 


The passengers, now relieved of their weapons, were un- 
bound, and allowed to re-enter the stage, and the door was 
slammed, upon which Old Black picked up his reins as 
coolly as if he had merely laid them down at the station 
while horses were being changed; then he cracked his 
whip, and the stage rolled off, while the colonel’s party has- 
tened back to their hut, fondly inspecting as they went cer- 
tain flasks they had obtained while transacting their busi- 
ness with the occupants of the stage. 

Great was the surprise of the road-agents as they en- 
tered their hut, for there stood the colonel in a clean white 
shirt, and in a suit of clothing made up from the limited 
spare wardrobes of the other members of the gang. 

But the suspicious Cranks speedily subordinated his 
wonder to his prudence, as, laying on the table a watch, 
two pistols, a pocket-book, and a heavy purse, he ex- 
claimed : 

“ Come, colonel, bizness before pleasure ; let’s divide 
an’ scatter. Ef anybody should hear ’bout it, an’ find our 
trail, an’ ketch us with the traps in our possession, they 
might ” 

“ Divide yerselves !” said the colonel, with abruptness 
and a great oath. “ I don’t want none of it.” 

“ Colonel,” said Perkins, removing his own domino, and 
looking anxiously into the leader’s face, “be you sick? 
Here’s some bully brandy I found in one of the passengers’ 
pockets.” 

“ I hain’t nothin’,” replied the colonel. “ I’m a-goin’, an’ 
I’m a-retirin’ from this bizness for ever.” 

“ Ain’t a-goin’ to turn evidence ?” cried Cranks, grasping 
the pistol on the table. 

“ I’m a-goin to make a lead-mine of you ef you don’t 
take that back !” roared the colonel, with a bound, which 
caused Cranks to drop his pistol, and retire precipitately 
backward, apologizing as he went. “ I’m goin’ to tend to 
my own bizness, and that’s enough to keep any man busy. 
Somebody lend me fifty> till I see him again ?” 


248 


BETTING ON THE COLONEL’S MOTIVES. 


Perkins pressed tlie money into the colonel’s hand, and 
within two minutes the colonel was on Tipsie’s back, and 
galloping on in the direction the stage had taken. 

He overtook it, he passed it, and still he galloped on. 

The people at Mud Gulch knew the colonel well, and 
made it a rule never to be astonished at anything he did ; 
but they made an exception to the rule when the colonel 
canvassed the principal bar-rooms for men who wished to 
purchase a horse ; and when a gambler, who was flush, ob- 
tained Tipsie in exchange for twenty slugs — only a thou- 
sand dollars, when the colonel had always said that there 
wasn’t gold enough on top of the ground to buy her — Mud 
Gulch experienced a decided sensation. 

One or two enterprising persons speedily discovered 
that the colonel was not in a communicative mood, so every 
one retired to his favorite saloon, and bet according to his 
own opinion of the colonel’s motives and actions. 

But when the colonel, after remaining in a barber-shop 
for half an hour, emerged with his face clean shaven and 
his hair neatly trimmed and parted, betting was so wild that 
a cool-headed sporting man speedily made a fortune by bet- 
ting against every theory that was advanced. 

Then the colonel made a tour of the stores, and fitted 
himself to a new suit of clothes, carefully eschewing all of 
the generous patterns and pronounced colors so dear to the 
average miner. He bought a new hat, put on a pair of 
boots, and pruned his finger-nails, and, stranger than all, he 
mildly but firmly declined all invitations to drink. 

As the colonel stood in the door of the principal saloon, 
where the stage always stopped, the Challenge Hill consta- 
ble was seen to approach the colonel, and tp.p him on the 
shoulder, upon which all men who had bet that the colonel 
was dodging somebody claimed the stakes. But those who 
stood near the colonel heard the constable say : 

“ Colonel, I take it all back, an’ I own up fair an’ square. 
When I seed you git out of Challenge Hill, it come to me 
all of a sudden that you might be in the road-agent busi- 


GEORGE ! ” “ MOTHER ! ” 


249 


ness, so I followed you — duty, you know. But after I seed 
you sell Tipsie, I knowed I was on the wrong trail. I 
wouldn’t suspect you now if all the stages in the State was 
robbed ; an’ I’ll give you satisfaction any way you want it.” 

“It’s all right,” said the colonel, with a smile. The con- 
stable afterward said that nobody had any idea of how curi- 
ously the colonel smiled when his beard was off. “ Give 
this fifty to Jim Perkins fust time yer see him? I’m leavin’ 
the State.” 

Suddenly the stage pulled up at the door with a crash, 
and the male passengers hurried into the saloon, in a state 
of utter indignation and impecuniosity. 

The story of the robbery attracted everybody, and dur- 
ing the excitement the colonel slipped quietly out, and 
opened the door of the stage. The old lady started, and 
cried : 

“ George 1” 

And the colonel, jumping into the stage, and putting hia 
arms tenderly about the trembling form of the old lady, 
exclaimed : 

“Mother I” 


THE haedhack: mistake. 


T^XCITEMENT ? The venerable Deacon Twinkbam, the 
\}l oldest inhabitant, said there had not been such an 
excitement at Hardback since the meeting-house steeple 
blew down in a terrible equinoctial, forty-seven years 
before. 

And who could wonder ? 

Even a larger town than Hardback would have experi- 
enced unusual agitation at seeing one of its own boys, who 
had a few years before gone away poor, slender and twenty, 
come back with broad shoulders, a full beard, and a pocket- 
ful of money, dug out of the ugly hills of Nevada. 

But even the return of Nathan Brown, in so unusual a 
condition for a Hardhackian to be found in, was not the 
fullness of Hardback’s excitement, for Nathan had brought 
with him Tom Crewne and Harry Faxton, two friends he 
had made during his absence, and both of them broad- 
shouldered, full-bearded, and auriferous as Nathan himselt 
' No wonder the store at Hardback was all the while 
crowded with those who knew all about Nathan, or wanted 
to — no wonder that “ Seen ’m ?” was the passing form of 
salutation for days. 

The news spread like wildfire, and industrious farmers 
deliberately took a day, drove to town, and stood patiently 
on the door-steps of the store until they had seen one or 
more of the wonderful men. 

The good Deacon Twinkbam himself, who had, at a late 
prayer-meeting, stated that “his feet already felt the 


AGITATION OF HAKDHACK MAIDENS. 


251 


splashin’ of J ordan’s waves,” temporarily withdrew his aged 
limbs from the rugged banks famed in song, and caused 
them to bear him industriously up and down the Bidge 
Boad, past Nathan’s mother’s house, until he saw all three 
of the bearded Croesuses seat themselves on the piazza to 
smoke. Then he departed, his good face affording an excel- 
lent study for a “ Simeon in the Temple.” 

Even the peaceful influences of the Sabbath were unable 
to restore tranquillity to Hardback. 

On Sunday morning the meeting-house was fuller than 
it had been since the funeral services of the last pastor. At 
. each squeak of the door, every head was quickly turned ; 
and when, in the middle of the first hymn, the three ex- 
miners filed decorously in, the staring organist held one 
chord of “Windham” so long that the breath of the congre- 
gation was entirely exhausted. 

The very pulpit itself succombed to the popular excite- 
ment ; and the Beverend Abednego Choker, after reading of 
the treasures of Solomon’s Temple, and of the glories of the 
New Testament, for the first and second lessons, preached 
from Isaiah xlvi. 6 : “ They lavish gold out of the bag and 
weigh silver in the balance.” 

But all this excitement was as nothing compared with 
the tumult which agitated the tender hearts of the maidens 
at Hardback. 

Young, old, handsome, plain, smart and stupid, until now 
few of them had dared to hope for a change of name ; for, 
while they possessed as many mental and personal charms 
as girls in general, all the enterprising boys of Hardback 
had departed from their birthplace in search of the lucre 
which Hardback’s barren hills and lean meadows failed to 
supply, and the cause of their going was equally a preven- 
tive of the coming of others to fill their places. 

But now — oh, hope !— here were three young men, good- 
looking, rich, and — if the other two were fit companions for 
the well-born and bred Nathan — all safe custodians for 
tender hearts. 


252 


CULTIYATING THE THREE EX-MINERS. 


Few girls were there in Hardback who did not determine, 
in their innermost hearts, to strive as hard as Yankee wit 
and maiden modesty would allow for one of those tempting 
prizes. 

Nor were they unaided. Eich and respectable sons-in- 
law are scarce enough the world over, so it was no wonder 
that all the parents of marriageable daughters strove to 
make Hardback pleasant for the young men. 

Fathers read up on Nevada, and cultivated the three ex- 
miners ; mothers ransacked cook-books and old trunks ; 
Ladies’ Companions were industriously searched for pleas- 
ing patterns ; crimping-irons and curling-tongs were extem- 
porized, and the demand for ribbons and trimmings became 
so great that the storekeeper hurried to the city for a fresh 
supply. 

Then began that season of mad hilarity and reckless 
dissipation, which seemed almost a dream to the actors 
themselves, and to which patriotic Hardhackians have since 
referred to with feelings like those of the devout Jew as he 
recalls the glorious deeds of his forefathers, or of the 
modem Eoman as, from the crumbling arches of the Coli- 
seum, he conjures up the mighty shade of the Ciesarian 
period. 

The fragrant bohea flowed as freely as champagne would 
have done in a less pious locality ; ethereal sponge-cakes 
and transparent currant-jellies became too common to excite 
comment ; the surrounding country was heavily drawn 
upon for fatted calves, chickens and turkeys, and mince- 
pies were so plenty, that observing children wondered if the 
Governor had not decreed a whole year of special Thanks- 
giving. 

Bravely the three great catches accepted every invitation, 
and, though it was a very unusual addition to his regular 
duties, the Eeverend Abednego Choker faithfully attended 
all the evening festivities, to the end that they might be 
decorously closed with prayer, as had from time imme- 
morial been the custom of Hardback. 


TWO UNCONDITIONAL SUKRENDERS. 253 

And tlie causes of all these efforts on the part of Hard- 
back society enjoyed themselves intensely. Young men of 
respectable inclinations, who have lived for several years in 
a society composed principally of scoundrels, and modified 
only by the occasional presence of an honest miner or a 
respectable mule-driver, would have considered as Elysium 
a place far less proper and agreeable than Hardback. In 
fact, the trio was so delighted, that its eligibility soon be- 
came diminished in quantity. 

Eaxton, at one of the first parties, made an unconditional 
surrender to a queenly damsel, while Nathan, having found 
his old schoolday sweetheart still unmarried, whispered 
something in her ear (probably the secret of some rare cos- 
metic), which filled her cheeks with roses from that time 
forth. 

But Crewne, the handsomest and most brilliant of the 
three, still remained, and over him the fight was far more 
intense than in the opening of the campaign, when weapons 
were either rusty or untried, and the chances of success 
were seemingly more numerous. 

But to designate any particular lady as surest of success 
seemed impossible. Even Nathan and Eaxton, when be- 
sought for an opinion by the two ladies who now claimed 
their innermost thoughts, could only say that no one but 
Crewne knew, and perhaps even he didn’t. 

Crewne was a very odd boy, they said — excellent com- 
pany, the best of good fellows, the staunchest of friends, and 
the very soul of honor; but there were some things about 
him they never could understand. In fact, he was some- 
thing like that sum of all impossibilities, a schoolgirl’s 
hero. 

“But, Harry,” said the prospective Mrs. Eaxton, with 
rather an angry pout for a Church-member in full com- 
munion, “just see what splendid girls are dying for him I 
I’m sure there are no nicer girls anywhere than in Hard- 
back, and he needn’t be so stuck up ” 

“ My dear,” interrupted Eaxton, “ I say it with fear and 


254 EXTEAOEDINAET INTEEEST IN CEEWNE’s APFATES. 

trembling, but perhaps Orewne don’t want to be in love at 
all.” 

An indignant flash of doubt went over the lady’s face. 

“ Just notice him at a party,” continued Fax ton. “ He 
seems to distribute his attentions with exact equality among 
all the ladies present, as if he were trying to discourage the 
idea that he was a marrying man.” 

“Well,” said the lady, still indignant, “I think you 
might ask him and settle the matter.” 

“Excuse me, my dear,” replied Faxton. “I have seen 
others manifest an interest in Crewne’s affairs, and the re- 
sult was discouraging. I’d rather not try the experiment.” 

A few mornings later Mrs. Leekins, who took the place 
of a newspaper at Hardback, was seen hurrying from house 
to house on her own street, and such housekeepers as saw 
her instantly discovered that errands must be made to 
houses directly in Mrs. Leekihs’s route. 

Mrs. Leekins’ s story was soon told. Orewne had sud- 
denly gone to the city, first purchasing the cottage which 
Deacon Twinkham had built several years before for a son 
who had never come back from sea. 

Orewne had hired old Mrs. Bruff to put the cottage to 
rights, and to arrange the carpets and furniture, which he 
was to forward immediately. But who was to be mistress 
of the cottage Mrs. Leekins was unable to tell, or even to 
guess. 

The clerks at the store had been thoroughly pumped ; 
but while they admitted that one young lady had purchased 
an unusual quantity of inserting, another had ordered a 
dress pattern of gray empress cloth, which was that year 
the fashionable material and color for traveling dresses. 

Old Mrs. Bruff had received unusual consideration and 
unlimited tea, but even the most systematic question failed 
to elicit from her anything satisfactory. 

A-t any rate, it was certain that Orewne was absent from 
Hardback, and it was evident that he had decided who was 
to be the lady of the cottage, so the season of festivity was 


THE MEETING DEMORAUZED. 


255 


brought to an abrupt close, and the digestions of Hardback 
were snatched from ruin. 

From kitchen-windows were now wafted odors of boiled 
corned beef and stewed apples, instead of the fragrance of 
delicate preserves and delicious turkey. 

Young ladies, when they met in the street, greeted each 
otlier with a shade less of cordiality than usual, and fathers 
ard mothers in Israel cast into each other’s eyes searching 
and suspicious glances. 

One afternoon, when the pious matrons of Hardback 
were gathering at the pastor’s residence to take part in the 
regular weekly mothers’ prayer-meeting, the mail-coach 
rolled into town, and Mrs. Leekins, who was sitting by the 
window, as she always did, exclaimed : 

‘‘He’s come back — there he is — on the seat with the 
driver !” 

Every one hurried to the window, and saw that Mrs. 
Leekins had spoken truly, for there sat Crewne with a 
pleasant smile on his face, while on top of the stage were 
several large trunks marked 0. 

“Must have got a handsome fit-out,” suggested Mrs. 
Leekins. 

The stage stopped at the door of Grewne’s new 
cottage, and Crewne got out. The pastor entered the parlor 
to open the meeting, and was selecting a hymn, when Mrs. 
Leekins startled the meeting by ejaculating : 

“Lands alive !” 

The meeting was demoralized ; the sisters hastened to 
the window, and the good pastor, laying down his hymn- 
book, followed in time to see Crewne helping out a well- 
dressed and apparently young and handsome lady. 

“Hardback girls not good ’nough for him, it seems!” 
sneered Mrs. Leekins. 

A resigned and sympathetic sigh broke from the 
motherly lips present, then Mrs. Leekins cried : 

“ Gracious sakes ! married a widder with children!” 

It certainly seemed that she told the truth, for Crewne 


256 


HAEDHACK EESIGNED. 


lifted out two children, tlie youngest of whom seemed not 
more than three years old. 

The gazers abruptly left the window, and the general 
tone of the meeting was that of melancholy resignation. 
******* 

“Why didn’t he ever say he was a married man ?” asked 
the prospective Mrs. Faxton, of her lover, that evening. 

“ Partly because he is too much of a gentleman to talk 
of his own affairs,” replied Faxton ; “ but principally because 
there had been, as he told me this afternoon, an unfortu- 
nate quarrel between them, which drove him to the mines. 
A few days ago he heard from her, for the first time in 
three years, and they’ve patched up matters, and are very 
happy.” 

“ Well,” said the lady, with considerable decision, “Hard- 
back will never forgive him.” 

“Hardback did, however, for Crewne and his two friends 
drew about them a few of their old comrades, who took unto 
themselves wives from the people about them, and made 
of Hardback one of the pleasantest villages in the State. 


THE CAEMI CHUMS. 



Carmi Clmms was the name they went by all along 


the river. Most other roustabouts had each a name of 


his own ; so had the Carmi Chums for that matter, but the 
men themselves were never mentioned individually — always 


collectively. 


No steamboat captain who wanted only a single man ever 
attempted to hire half of the Carmi Chums at a time — as 
easy would it have been to have hired half of the Siamese 
Twins. No steamboat mate who knew them ever attempted 
to “tell off” the Chums into different watches, and any 
mate who, not knowing them, committed this blunder, and 
adhered to it after explanation was made, was sure to be 
two men short immediately after leaving the steamer’s next 
landing. 

There seemed no possible way of separating them ; they 
never fell out with each other in the natural course of 
events; they never fought when drunk, as other friendly 
roustabouts sometimes did, for the Carmi Chums never got 
drunk ; there never sprang up any coolness between them 
because of love for the same lady, for they did not seem to 
care at all for female society, unless they happened to meet 
some old lady whom one might love as a mother rather 
than as a sweetheart. 

Even professional busybodies, from whose presence 
roustabouts are no freer than Church-members, were unable 
to provoke the Carmi Chums even to suspicion, and those 


258 


‘‘black” and “bed.’ 


of them who attempted it too persistently were likely to 
have a difficulty with the slighter of the Chums. 

This man, who was called Black, because of the color of 
his hair, was apparently forty years of age, and of very 
ordinary appearance, except when an occasional furtive, 
frightened look came into his face and attracted attention. 

His companion, called Bed, because his hair was of the 
hue of the carrots, and because it was occasionally neces- 
sary to distinguish him from his friend, seemed of about 
the same age and degree of ordinaries as Black, but was 
rather stouter, more cheery, and, to use the favorite rousta- 
bout simile, held his head closer to the current 

He seenied, when Black was absent-minded (as he gen- 
erally was while off duty), to be the leading spirit of the 
couple, and to be tenderly alive to all of his partner’s 
needs ; but observing roustabouts noticed that when freight 
was being moved, or wood taken on board. Black was always 
where he could keep an eye on his chum, and where he 
could demand instant reparation from any wretch who trod 
upon Bed’s toes, or who, with a shoulder-load of wood, 
grazed Bed’s head, or touched Bed with a box or barrel. 

Next to neighborly wonder as to the existence of the 
friendship between the Chums, roustabouts with whom the 
couple sailed concerned themselves most with the cause of 
the bond between them. Their searches after first causes 
were no more successful, however, than those of the natur- 
alists who are endeavoring to ascertain who laid the cosmic 

egg- 

They gave out that they came from Carmi, so, once or 
twice, when captains with whom the Chums were engaged 
determined to seek a cargo up the Wabash, upon^which 
river Carmi was located, inquisitive roustabouts became 
light-hearted. But, alas, for the vanity of human hopes ! 
when the boat reached Carmi the Chums could not be 
found, nor could any inhabitant of Carmi identify them by 
the? descriptions which were given by inquiring friends. 

At length they became known, in their collective capa- 


THE CHUMS IN THE CEEW OF THE BENNETT. 259 

city, as one of the institutions of the river. Captains knew 
them as well as they knew Natchez or Piankishaw Bend, 
and showed them to distinguished passengers as regularly 
as they showed General Zach. Taylor’s plantation, or the 
scene of the Grand Gulf “ cave,” where a square mile of 
Louisiana dropped into the river one night. Captains 
rather cultivated them, in fact, although it was a difficult 
bit of business, for roustabouts who wouldn’t say “thank 
you ” for a glass of Prench brandy, or a genuine, old-fash- 
ioned “plantation cigar,” seemed destitute of jrdinary 
handles of which a steamboat captain could take hold. 

Lady passengers took considerable notice of them, and 
were more successful than any one else at drawing them 
into conversation. The linguistic accomplishments of the 
Chums were not numerous, but it did one good to see Black 
lose his scared, furtive look when a lady addressed him, 
and to see the affectionate deference with which he appealed 
to Bed, until that worthy was drawn into the conversation. 
When Black succeeded in this latter-named operation, ho 
would, by insensible stages, draw himself away, and give 
himself up to enthusiastic admiration of his partner, or, 
apparently, of his conversational ability. 

The Spring of 1869 found the Chums in the crew of the 
Bermett, “ the peerless floating palace of the Mississippi,” 
as she was called by those newspapers whose reporters had 
the freedom of the Bennett's bar ; and the same season saw 
the Bennett staggering down the Mississippi with so heavy 
a load of sacked corn, that the gunwales amidships were 
fairly under water. 

The river was very low, so the Bennett kept carefully in 
the channel ; but the channel of the great muddy ditch which 
drains half the Union is as fickle as disappointed lovers 
declare women to be, and it has no more respect for great 
steamer-loads of corn than Goliath had for David. 

A little Ohio river-boat, bound upward, had reported 
the sudden disappearance of a wbodyard a little way above 
Milliken’s Bend, where the channel hugged the shore, and 


260 


THE CHUMS IN DANGER. 


with the woodyard there had disappeared an enormous 
sycamore-tree, which had for years served as a tying-post 
for steamers. 

As live sycamores are dbout as disinclined to float as 
bars of lead are, the captain and pilot of the Benmtt were 
somewhat concerned — for the sake of the corn — to know 
the exact location of the tree. 

Half a mile from the spot it became evident, even to 
the passengers clustered forward on the cabin-deck, that the 
sycamore had remained quite near to its old home, for a 
long, rough ripple was seen directly across the line of the 
channel. 

Then arose the question as to how much water was on 
top of the tree, and whether any bar had had time to accu- 
mulate. 

The steamer was stopped, the engines were reversed 
and worked by hand to keep the Bennett from drifting down- 
stream, a boat was lowered and manned, the Chums form- 
ing part of her crew, and the second officer went down to 
take soundings; while the passengers, to whom even so 
small a cause for excitement was a godsend, crowded the 
rail and stared. 

The boat shot rapidly down stream, headed for the 
shore-end of the ripple. She seemed almost into the boil- 
ing mud in front of her when the passengers on the steamer 
heard the mate in the boat shout : “Back all !” 

The motion of the oars changed in an instant, but a lit- 
tle too late, for, a heavy root of the fallen giant, just cov- 
ered by the water, caught the little craft, and caused it to 
careen so violently that one man was thrown into the water. 
As she righted, another man went in. 

“Confound it!” growled the captain, who was leaning 
out of the pilot-house window. I hope they can swim. 
Still, ’tain’t as bad as it would be if we had any more cargo 
to take aboard.” 

“ It’s the Chums,” remarked the pilot, who had brought 
a glass to bear upon the boat. 


THE JUDGE RESUMES HIS STORY. 


261 


“Thunder!” exclaimed the captain, striking a belL 
“ Below there ! Lower away another boat — ^lively 1” Then, 
turning to the passengers, he exclaimed : “ Nobody on the 
river ’d forgive me if I lost the Chums. ’T would be as bad 
as Barnum losing the giraffe.” 

The occupants of the first boat were evidently of the 
captain’s own mind, for they were eagerly peering over her 
side, and into the water. 

Suddenly the pilot dropped his glass, extemporized a 
trumpet with both hands, and shouted : 

“ Forrard — forrard I One of ’em’s up I” Then he put 
his mouth to the speaking- tube, and screamed to the en- 
gineer : “ Let her drop down a little, Billy I” 

The sounding party headed toward a black speck, ap- 
parently a hundred yards below them, and the great steamer 
slowly drifted down-stream. The speck moved toward 
shore, and the boat, rapidly shortening distance, seemed to 
scrape the bank with her port oars. 

“ Safe enough now, I guess I” exclaimed Judge Turner, 
of one of the Southern Illinois circuits. 

The Judge had been interrupted in telling a story when 
the accident occurred, and was in a hurry to resume. 

“ As I was saying,” said he, “ he hardly looked like a 
professional horse-thief. He was little and quiet, and had 
always worked away steadily at his trade. I believed him 
when he said ’twas his first offense, and that he did it to 
raise money to bury his child ; and I was going to give him 
an easy sentence, and ask the Governor to pardon him. 
The laws have to be executed, you know, but there’s no law 
against mercy being practiced afterward. Well, the sheriff 
was bringing him from jail to hear the verdict and the sen- 
tence, when the short man, with red hair, knocked the 
sheriff down, and off galloped that precious couple for the 
Wabash. I saw the entire ” 

“ The deuce I” interrupted the pilot, again dropping his 
glass. 

The Judge glared angrily ; the passengers saw, across 


262 


THE STORY INTERRUPTED. 


sliortened distance, one of the Chums holding by a root 
is) the bank, and trying to support the other, whose shirt 
hung in rags, and who seemed exhausted. 

** Which one’s hurt ?” asked the captain. “ Give me the 
glass.” 

But the pilot had left the house and taken the glass with 
him. 

The Judge continued : 

“ I saw the whole transaction through the window. I 
was so close that I saw the sheriff’s assailant’s very eyes. 
I’d know that fellow’s face if I saw it in Africa.” 

“Why, they’re both hurt!” exclaimed the captain. 
“ They’ve thrown a coat over one, and they’re crowdin’ 

around the other. What the They’re cornin’ back 

without ’em — need whisky to bring ’em to, I suppose. 
Why didn’t I send whisky down by the other boat ? 
There’s an awful amount of time being wasted here. 
What’s the matter, Mr. Bell ?” shouted the captain, as the 
boat approached the steamer. 

“ Both dead I” replied the officer. 

“ Both ? Now, ladies and gentlemen,” exclaimed the 
captain, turning toward the passengers, who were crowded 
forward just below him, “ I want to know if that isn’t a 
streak of the meanest kind of luck? Both the Chums 
gone ! Why, I won’t be able to hold up my head in New 
Orleans. How came it that just those two fellows were 
knocked out ?” 

“Bed tumbled out, and Black jumped in after him,” re- 
plied the officer. “ Bed must have been caught in an eddy 
and tangled in the old tree’s roots — clothes torn almost off 
— head caved in. Black must have burst a blood-vessel — 
his face looked like a copper pan when he reached shore, 
and he just groaned and dropped.” 

The captain was sorry, so sorry that he sent a waiter for 
brandy. But the captain was human — business was busi- 
ness — the rain was falling, and a big log was across the 
boat’s bow’; so he shouted : 


‘‘red’s a woman.’ 


263 


“ Hurry up and bury ’em, then. You ought to have let 
the second boat’s crew gone on with that, and you have 
gone back to your soundings. They was the Chums, to be 
sure, but now they’re only dead roustabouts. Below there ! 
Pass out a couple of shovels !” 

“Perhaps some ladies would go down with the boat, 
captain — and a preacher, too, if there’s one aboard,” re- 
marked the mate, with an earnest but very mysterious ex- 
pression. 

“ Why, what in thunder does the fellow mean ?” solilo- 
quized the captain, audibly. “Women — and a preacher — 
for dead roustabouts ? What do you mean, Mr. Bell ?” 

“ Bed’s a woman,” briefly responded the mate. 

The passengers all started — the captain brought his 
hands together with a tremendous clap, and exclaimed: 

“ Murder will out ! But who’d have thought I was to be 
the man to find out the secret of the Carmi Chums ? Guess 
I’ll be the biggest man on the New Orleans levee, after all. 
Yes, certainly — of course some ladies’ll go — and a preacher, 
too, if there’s such a man aboard. Hold up, though — we’ll 
all go. Take your soundings, quick, and we’ll drop the 
steamer just below the point, and tie up. I wonder if 
there’s a preacher aboard ?” 

No one responded for the moment; then the Judge spoke. 

“ Before I went into the law I was the regularly settled 
pastor of a Presbyterian Church,” said he. “ I’m decidedly 
rusty now, but a little time will enable me to prepare my- 
self properly. Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen.” 

The sounding-boat pulled away, and the Judge retired 
to his stateroom. The ladies, with very pale faces, gath- 
ered in a group and whispered earnestly with each other ; 
then ensued visits to each other’s staterooms, and the final 
regathering of the ladies with two or three bundles. The 
soundings were taken, and, as the steamer dropped down- 
stream, men were seen cutting a path down the rather steep 
clay bank. The captain put his hands to his mouth and 
shouted : 


264 


THE JUDGE FINISHES HIS STORY. 


Dig only one grave — ^make it wide enough for two.” j 

A.nd all the passengers nodded assent and satisfaction. 

Time had been short since the news reached the steamer, 
but the Bennett's carpenter, who was himself a married man, 
had made a plain coffin by the time the boat tied up, and 
another by the time the grave was dug. The first one was 
put upon a long handbarrow, over which the captain had 
previously spread a tablecloth, and, followed by the ladies, 
was deposited by the side of the body of Bed. Half an hour 
later, the men placed Black in the other coffin, removed both 
to the side of the grave, and signalled the boat. 

“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” said the captain. 

The Judge appeared with a very solemn face, his coat 
buttoned tight to his throat, and the party started. Colonel 
May, of Missouri, who read Yoltaire and didn’t believe in 
anything, maliciously took the Judge’s arm, and remarked ; 

“You didn’t finish your story. Judge.” 

The Judge frowned reprovingly. 

“But, really,” persisted the colonel, “I don’t want curi- 
osity to divert my mind from the solemn services about to 
take place. Do tell me if they ever caught the rascals.” 

“They never did,” replied the Judge. “The sheriff 
hunted and advertised, but he could never hear a word of 
either of them. But I’d know either one of them at sight. 
Sh — h here we are at the grave.” 

The passengers, officers, and crew gathered about the 
grave. The Judge removed his hat, and, as the captain un- 
covered the faces of the dead, commenced : 

“ ‘ I am the resurrection and the life’ — Why, there’s the 
horse-thief now, colonel ! I beg your pardon, ladies and 
gentlemen. ‘ He that believeth in ’ ” 

Just then the Judge’s eye fell upon the dead woman’s 
face, and he screamed : 

“And there’s the sheriff’s assailant 1” 


A KOMANCE OF HAPPY BEST. 


H appy best is a yillage whose name has never ap- 
peared in gazetteer or census report. This remark 
should not cause any depreciation of the faithfulness of 
public and private statisticians, for Happy Best belonged 
to a class of settlements which sprang up about as sudden- 
ly as did Jonah’s Gourd, and, after a short existence, disap- 
peared so quickly that the last inhabitant generally found 
himself alone before he knew that anything unusual was 
going on. 

When the soil of Happy Best supported nothing more 
artificial than a broken wagon wheel, left behind by some 
emigrants going overland to California, a deserter from a 
fort near by discovered that the soil was auriferous. 

His statement to that effect, made in a bar-room in the 
first town he reached thereafter, led to his being invited to 
drink, which operation resulted in certain supplementary 
statements and drinks. 

Within three hours every man within five miles of that 
barroom knew that the most paying dirt on the continent 
had been discovered not far away, and three hours later a 
large body of gold-hunters, guided by the deserter, were en 
route for the auriferous locality; while a storekeeper and 
a liquor-dealer, with their respective stocks-in-trade, fol- 
lowed closely after. 

The ground was found ; it proved to be tolerably rich ; 
tents went up, underground residences were burrowed, and 
the grateful miners ordered the barkeeper to give unlimited 
credit to the locality’s discoverer. The barkeeper obeyed 


26G 


THE CONDITION OF SOCIETY. 


the order, and the ex-warrior speedily met his death in a 
short but glorious contest with John Barleycorn. 

There was no available lumber from which to construct 
a coffin, and the storekeeper had no large boxes ; but as the 
liquor-seller had already emptied two barrels, these were 
f^aken, neatly joined in the centre, and made to contain 
the remains of the founder of the hamlet. The method 
of his death and origin of his coffin led a spirituous miner 
to suggest that he rested happily, and from this remark the 
name of the town was elaborated. 

Of course, no ladies accompanied the expedition. Men 
who went West for gold did not take their families with 
them, as a rule, and the settlers of new mining towns were 
all of the masculine gender. 

When a town had attained to the dignity of a hotel, 
members of the gentler sex occasionally appeared, but — 
with the exception of an occasional washerwoman — their 
influence was decidedly the reverse of that usually attrib- 
uted to woman’s society. 

For the privileges of their society, men fought with pis- 
tols and knives, and bought of them disgrace and sorrow 
for gold. But at first Happy Best was unblessed and un- 
cursed by the presence of any one who did not wear pan- 
taloons. 

On the fifth day of its existence, however, when the ar- 
rival of an express agent indicated that Capital had for- 
mally acknowledged the existence of Happy Best, there 
was an unusual commotion in the never-quiet village. 

An important rumor had spread among the tents and 
gopher-holes, and, one after another, the citizens visited the 
saloon, took the barkeeper mysteriously aside, and, with 
faces denoting the greatest concern, whispered earnestly to 
him. The barkeeper felt his importance as the sole cus- 
todian of all the village new’s, but he replied with affability 
to all questions : 

“Well, yes; there Tied a lady come ; come by the same 
stage as the express agent. What kind? — Well, he really 
couldn’t say — some might think one way, an’ some another. 


A MEMBER OF THE GENTLE SEX. 


267 


He thoTiglit slie was a real lady, thoHgli slie wouldn’t ’low 
anything to be sent her from the bar, and she hedn’t 
brought no baggage. Thought so — Iznowed she was a lady 
— in fact, would bet drinks for the crowd on it. ’Cos why ? 
— ’Cos nobody heerd her cuss or seed her laugh. H’d bet 
three to two she was a lady — might bet two to one, ef he got 
his dander up on the subject. Then, on t’other hand, she’d 
axed for Major Axel, and the major, ez everybody know’d, 
was — ^well, he wasn’t ’xactly a saint. Besides, as the major 
hedn’t come to Happy Best, nohow, it looked ez if he was 
dodgin’ her for somethin’. Where was she stopping ? — up 
to Old Psalmsinger’s. Old Psalm hed turned himself out 
of house an’ home, and bought her a new tea-kettle to boot. 
If anybody know’d anybody that wanted to take three to 
two, send him along.” 

A few men called to bet, and bets were exchanged all 
over the camp, but most of the excitement centred about 
the storekeeper’s. 

Argonauts, pioneers, heroes, or whatever else the early 
gold-seekers were, they were likewise mortal men, so they 
competed vigorously for the few blacking-brushes, boxes of 
blacking, looking-glasses, pocket-combs and neckties which 
the store contained. They bought toilet-soap, and bor- 
rowed razors ; and when they had improved their personal 
appearance to the fullest possible extent, they stood aim- 
lessly about, like unemployed workmen in the market-place. 
Each one, however, took up a position which should rake 
the only entrance to old Psalmsinger’s teni 

Suddenly, two or three scores of men struck various at- 
titudes, as if to be photographed, and exclaimed in unison : 

“ There she is !” 

From the tent of old Psalmsinger there had emerged 
the only member of the gentler sex who had reached Happy 
Best. 

For only a moment she stood still and looked about her, 
as if uncertain which way to go ; but before she had taken 
a step, old Psalmsinger raised his voice, and said ; 


268 


RECOGNIZED. 


“ I thort it last night, when I only seed her in the moon- 
light, but I Icnoio it now — she’s a lady, an’ no mistake. Ef 
I was a bettin’ man, I’d bet all my dust on it, an’ my farm 
to hum besides !” 

A number of men immediately announced that they 
would bet, in the speaker’s place, to any amount, and in 
almost any odds. For, though old Psalm, by reason of 
non-participation in any of the drinks, fights, or games with 
which the camp refreshed itself, was considered a mere non- 
entity, it was generally admitted that men of his style could 
tell a lady or a preacher at sight. 

The gentle unknown finally started toward the largest 
group of men, seeing which, several smaller groups massed 
themselves on the larger with alacrity. 

As she neared them, the men could see that she was 
plainly dressed, but that every article of attire was not only 
neat but tasteful, and that she had enough grace of form 
and carriage to display everything to advantage. A few 
steps-nearer, and she displayed a set of sad but refined fea- 
tures, marred only by an irresolute, purposeless mouth. 

Then an ex-reporter from New York turned suddenly to a 
graceless young scamp who had once been a regular orna- 
ment to [feroadway, and exclaimed : 

“ Louise Mattray, isn’t it ?” 

“ ’Tis, by thunder !” replied the young man. “ I knew 
I’d seen her somewhere. Wonder what she’s doing here ?*’ 

The reporter shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Some wild-goose speculation, I suppose. Smart and 
gritty — if I had her stick I shouldn’t be here — ^but she 
always slips up — can’t keep all her wires well in hand. 
Was an advertising agent when I left the East — picked up a 
good many ads, too, and made folks treat her respectfully, 
when they’d have kicked a man out of doors if he’d come 
on the same errand.” 

“ Say she’s been asking for Axel,” remarked the young 
man. 

“That so!” queried the reporter, wrinkling his brow, 


A BOKN LEADER. 


269 


and hurrying through his mental notebook. “Oh, yes — 
there was some talk about them at one time. Some said 
they were married — she said so, but she never took his 
name. She had a handsome son, that looked like her and 
the major, but she didn’t know how to manage him — went 
to the dogs, or worse, before he was eighteen.” 

“ Axell here ?” asked the young man. 

“ No,” replied the reporter ; “ and ’twouldn’t do her any 
good if he was. The major’s stylish and good-looking, and 
plays a brilliant game, but he hasn’t any more heart than 
is absolutely necessary to his circulation. Besides, his ” 

The reporter was interrupted by a heavy hand falling on 
his shoulder, and found, on turning, that the hand belonged 
to “The General.” 

The general was not a military man, but his title had 
been conferred in recognition of the fact that he was a born 
leader. Wherever he went the general assumed the reins 
of government, and his administration had always been 
popular as well as judicious. 

But at this particular moment the general seemed to feel 
unequal to what was evidently his duty, and he, like a skill- 
ful general, sought a properly qualified assistant, and the 
reporter seemed to him to be just the man he wanted. 

“ Spidertracks,” said the general, with an air in which 
authority and supplication were equally prominent, “ you’ve 
told an awful sight of lies in your time. Don’t deny it, now 
— ^nobody that ever reads the papers will b’leeve you. 
Now’s yer chance to put yer gift of gab to a respectable 
use. The lady’s bothered, and wants to say somethin’ or 
ask somethin’, and she’ll understand your lingo better’n 
mine. Fire away now, lively !” 

The ex-shorthand- writer seemed complimented by the 
general’s address, and stepping forward and raising the re- 
mains of what had once been a hat, said : 

“ Can I serve you in any way, madame ?” 

The lady glanced at him quickly and searchingly, and 
then, seeming assured of the reporter’s honesty, replied ; 


270 


SPIDEKTRACKS’S OFFER. 


"I am looking for an old acquaintance of mine — one 
Major Axell.” 

“ He is not in camp, ma’am,” said Spidertracks. “ He 
was at Rum Valley a few days ago, when our party was 
organized to come here.” 

“ I was there yesterday,” said the lady, looking greatly 
disappointed, “ and was told he started for here a day oi 
two before.” 

“ Some mistake, ma’am, I assure you,” replied Spider- 
tracks. “I should have known of his arrival if he had 
come. I’m an old newspaper man, ma’am, and can’t get out 
of the habit of getting the news.” 

The lady turned away, but seemed irresolute. The re- 
porter followed her. 

“ If you will return to Rum Valley, ma’am. I’ll find the 
major for you, if he is hereabouts,” said he. “ You will be 
more comfortable there, and I will be more likely than you 
to find him.” 

The lady hesitated for a moment longer ; then she drew 
from her pocket a diary, wrote a line or two on one of its 
leaves, tore it out and handed it to the reporter. 

“ I will accept your offer, and be very grateful for it, for 
I do not bear this mountain traveling very well. If you 
find him, give him this scrawl and tell him where I am — 
that will be sufficient.” 

“ Trust me to find him, ma’am,” replied Spidertracks. 
“And as the stage is just starting, and there won’t be 
another for a week, allow me to see you into it. Any bag- 
gage?” 

“ Only a small hand-bag in the tent,” said she. 

They hurried off together, Spidertracks found the bag, 
and five minutes later was bowing and waving his old hat 
to the cloud of dust which the departing stage left behind 
it. But when even the dust itself had disappeard, he drew 
from his pocket the paper the fair passenger had given 
him. 

“ ’Tain’t sealed,” said he, reasoning with himself, “ so 


LEADING SENSATION. 


271 


tliere can’t be any secrets in it. Let’s see — hello! ‘Ernest 
is somewhere in this country ; I wish to see you about Am 
— and about nothing else.’ Whew-w-w! What splendid 
material for a column, if there was only a live paper in this 
infernal country! Looking for that young scamp, eh? 
There is something to her, and I’ll help her if I can. 
Wonder if I’d recognize him if I saw him again? I ought 
to, if he looks as much like his parents as he used to do. 
’Twould do my soul good to make the poor woman smile 
once ; but it’s an outrageous shame there’s no good daily 
paper here to work the whole thing up in. With the chase, 
and fighting, and murder that may come of it, ’twould make 
the leading sensation for a week !” 

The agonized reporter clasped his hands behind him and 
walked slowly back to where he had left the crowd. Most 
of the citizens had, on seeing the lady depart, taken a drink 
as a partial antidote to dejection, and strolled away to their 
respective claims, regardless of the occasional mud which 
threatened the polish on their boots ; but two or three gen- 
tlemen of irascible tempers and judicial minds lingered, to 
decide whether Spidertracks had not, by the act of seeing 
the lady to the stage, made himself an accessory to her de- 
parture, and consequently a fit subject for challenge by every 
disappointed man in camp. 

The reporter was in the midst of a very able and voluble 
defense, when the attention of his hearers seemed distracted 
by something on the trail by which the original settlers had 
entered the village. 

Spidertracks himself looked, shaded his eyes, indulged 
in certain disconnected fragments of profanity, and finally 
exclaimed : 

Axell himself, by the white coat of Horace Greeley! 
Wonder who he’s got with him ! They seem to be having a 
difficulty about something !” 

The gentlemen who had arraigned Spidertracks allowed 
him to be acquitted by default. Far better to them was a 
fight near by than the most interesting lady afar off. 


272 


TWO KEEPERS. 


They stuck their hands into their pockets, and stared in- 
tently. Finally one of them, in a tone of disgusted resigna- 
tion, remarked : 

“Axell ought to be ashamed of hisself; he’s draggin’ 
along a little feller not half the size he is. Blamed if he 
ain’t got his match, though ; the little feller’s jest doin’ some 
gellorious chawin’ an’ diggin’.” 

The excitement finally overcame the inertia of the party, 
and each man started deliberately to meet the major and 
his captive. Spidertracks, faithful to his profession, kept 
well in advance of the others. Suddenly he exclaimed to 
himself : 

“ Good Lord ! don’t they know each other ? The major 
didn’t wear that beard when in New York ; but the boy — 
he’s just the same scamp, in spite of his dirt and rags. If 
she were to see them now — ^but, pshaw ! ’twould all fall flat 
— no live paper to take hold of the matter and work it up.” 

“ There, curse your treacherous heart !” roared the major, 
as he gave his prisoner a push which threw him into the 
reporter’s arms. “ Now we’re in a civilized community, and 
you’ll have a chance of learning the opinions of gentlemen 
on such irregularities. Tried to kill me, gentlemen, upon 
my honor ! — did it after I had shared my eatables and 
pocket-pistol with him, too. Did it to get my dust. Got 
me at a disadvantage for a moment, and made a formal de- 
mand for the dust, and backed his request with a pistol — 
my own pistol, gentlemen ! I’ve only just reached here ; I 
don’t yet know who’s here, but I imagine there’s public 
spirit enough to discourage treachery. Will some one see 
to him while I take something ?” 

Spidertracks drew his revolver, mildly touched the young 
man on the shoulder, and remarked : 

“ Come on.” 

The ex-knight of the pencil bowed his prisoner into an 
abandoned gopher-hole (^. e., an artificial cave,) cocked his 
revolver, and then stretched himself on the ground and de- 
voted himself to staring at the unfortunate youth. To a 


SISTER OF CHARITY. 


273 


student of human nature Ernest Mattray was curious, fascin- 
ating, and repulsive. Short, slight, handsome, delicate, 
nervous, unscrupulous, selfish, effeminate, dishonest, and 
cruel, he was an excellent specimen of what city life could 
make of a boy with no father and an irresolute mother. 

The reporter, who had many a time studied faces in the 
Tombs, felt almost as if at his old vocation again as he 
gazed into the restless eyes and sullen features of the pris- 
oner. 

Meanwhile Happy Rest was becoming excited. There 
had been some little fighting done since the settlement of 
the place, but as there had been no previous attempt at 
highway robbery and murder made in the vicinity, the pris- 
oner was an object of considerable interest. 

In fact, the major told so spirited a story, that most of 
•the inhabitants strolled up, one after another, to look at the 
innovator, while that individual himself, with the modesty 
which seems inseparable from true greatness, retired to the 
most secluded of the three apartments into which the cave 
was divided, and declined all the attentions which were 
thrust upon him. 

The afternoon had faded almost into evening, when a 
decrepit figure, in a black dress and bonnet, approached the 
cave, and gave Spidertracks a new element for the thrilling 
report he had composed and mentally rearranged during his 
few hours of duty as jailer. 

“ Beats the dickens,” muttered the reporter to himself, 
“ how these Sisters of Charity always know when a tough 
case has been caught. Natural enough in New York. But 
where did she come from ? Who told her ? Cross, beads, 
and all. Hello ! Oh, Louise Mattray, you’re a deep one ; 
but it’s a pity your black robe isn’t quite long enwgh to 
hide the very tasty dress you wore this morning ? Queer 
dodge, too — wonder what it means ? Wonder if she’s caught 
sight of the major, and don’t want to be recognized ?” 

The figure approached. 

“ May I see the prisoner ?” she asked. 


274 


STRANGE NOISES IN CAMP. 


“No one has a better right, Mrs. Mattray,” said the 
guardian of the cave, with a triumphant smile, while the 
poor woman started and trembled. “ Don’t be frightened — 
no one is going to hurt you. Heard all about it, I suppose ? 
— know who just missed being the victim ?” 

“Yes,” said the unhappy woman, entering the cave. 

•When she emerged it was growing quite dark. She 
passed the reporter with head and vail down, and whis- 
pered : 

“ Thank you.” 

“ Don’t mention it,” said the reporter, quickly. “ Going 
to stay until you see how things go with him ?” 

She shook her head and passed on. 

The sky grew darker. The reporter almost wished it 
might grow so dark that the prisoner could escape unper- 
ceived, or so quickly that a random shot could not find him. 
There were strange noises in camp. 

The storekeeper, who never traveled except by daylight, 
was apparently harnessing his mules to the wagon — he was 
moving the wagon itself to the extreme left of the camp, 
where there was nothing to haul but wood, and even that 
was still standing in the shape of fine old trees. 

There seemed to be an unusual clearness in the air, for 
Spidertracks distinctly heard the buzz of some earnest con- 
versation. There seemed strange shadows floating in the 
air — a strange sense of something moving toward him — 
something almost shapeless, yet tangible — something that 
approached him — that gave him a sense of insecurity and 
then of alarm. Suddenly the indefinable something uttered a 
yell, and resolved itself into a party of miners, led by the 
gallant and aggrieved major himself, who shouted : 

“ Lynch the scoundrel, boys — that’s the only thing to 
do!” 

The excited reporter sprang to his feet in an agony of 
genuine humanity and suppressed itemizing, and screamed : 

“ Major, wait a minute — you’ll be sorry if you don’t 1” 

But the gallant major had been at the bar for two or 


THE OCCUPANT OF THE CAVE. 


275 


three hours, preparing himself for this valorous deed, and 
the courage he had there imbibed knew not how to brook 
delay — ^not until the crowd had reached the mouth of the 
cave and found it dark, and had heard one unduly prudent 
miner suggest that it might be well to have a light, so as to 
dodge being sliced in the dark. 

“Bring a light quick, then,” shouted the major. “J’ZZ 
drag him out when it comes ; he knows my grip, curse him !” 

A bunch of dried grass was hastily lighted and thrown 
into the cave, and the major rapidly followed it, while as 
many miners as could crowd in after him hastened to do so. 
They found the major, with white face and trembling limbs, 
standing in front of the lady for whose sake they had done 
so much elaborate dressing in the morning, and who they 
had afterwards wrathfully seen departing in the stage. 

The major rallied, turned around, and said : 

“There’s some mistake here, gentlemen. Won’t you 
have the kindness to leave us alone ?” 

Slowly — very slowly — the crowd withdrew. It seemed to 
them that, in the nature of things, the lady ought to have it 
out with the major with pistols or knives for disturbing her, 
and that they, who were in all the sadness of disappoint- 
ment at failure of a well-planned independent execution, 
ought to see the end of the whole affair. But a beseeching 
look from the lady herself finally cleared the cave, and the 
major exclaimed : 

“ Louise, what does this mean ?” 

“ It means,” said the lady, with most perfect composure, 
“ that, thanks to a worthless father and a bad bringing-up 
by an incapable mother, Ernest has found his way into this 
country. I came to find him, and I found him in this hole, 
to which his affectionate father brought him to-day. It is 
about as well, I imagine, that I helped him to escape, seeing 
to what further kind attentions you had reserved him.” 

“Please don’t be so icy, Louise,” begged the major. 
“ He attempted to rob and kill me, the young rascal ; besides, 
I had not the faintest idea of who he was.” 


^76 oh! for a daily rAFER. 

“Perhaps,” said the lady, still very calm, “you will tell t, 
me from whom he inherited the virtues which prompted his , 
peculiar actions towards you ? His mother has always | 
earned her livelihood honorably.” 

“ Louise,” said the major, with a humility which would | 
have astonished his acquaintance, “ won’t you have the ; 
kindness to reserve your sarcasm until I am better able to ■ 
bear it ? You probably think I have no heart — I acknow- I 
ledge I have thought as much myself — ^but something is 
making me feel very weak and tender just now.” 

The lady looked critically at him for a moment, and then 
burst into tears. 

“ Oh, God 1” she sobbed, “ what else is there in store for 
this poor, miserable, injured life of mine ?” 

“ Eestitution,” whispered the major softly — “ if you will 
let me make it, or try to make it.” 

The weeping woman looked up inquiringly, and said only 
the words : 

“And she?” 

“My first wife?” answered the major. “Dead — really 
dead, Louise, as I hope to be saved. She died several 
years ago, and I longed to do you justice then, but the 
memory of our parting was too much for my cowardly soul. 
If you will take me as I am, Louise, I will, as long as I live, 
remember the past, and try to atone for it.” 

She put her hand in his, and they left the gopher-hole 
together. As they disappeared in the outer darkness, there 
emerged from one of the compartments of the cave an indi- 
vidual whose features were indistinguishable in the dark- 
ness, but who was heard to emphatically exclaim : 

“ If I had the dust, I’d start a live daily here, just to tell 
the whole story ; though the way he got out didn’t do me 
any particular credit.” 

* * * * * * * 

For days the residents of Happy Eest used all available 
mental stimulants to aid them in solving the mystery of the 
major and the wonderful lady ; but, as the mental stimu- 


NOT A RAIN-DROP. 


277 


lants aforesaid were all ; spirituous, the results were more 
deplorable than satisfactory. But when, a few days later, 
the couple took the stage for Bum Yalley, the enterprising 
Spidertracks took an outside passage, and at the end of 
the route had his persistency rewarded by seeing, in tne 
Bangup House, a Sister of Charity tenderly embrace the 
major’s fair charge, start at the sight of the major and then, 
after some whispering by the happy mother, sullenly ex 
tend a hand, which the major grasped heartily, and over 
which there dropped something which, though a drop of 
water, was not a rain-drop. Then did Spidertracks return 
to the home of his adoption, and lavish the stores of his 
memory ; and for days his name was famous, and his liquor 
was paid for by admiring auditors. 



1 


TWO POWERFUL ARGUMEOTS. 


^^^OT him?” 

U “ You bet !” 

The questioner looked pleased, yet not as if his pleasure 
engendered any mental excitement. The man who answered 
spoke in an ordinary, careless tone, and with unmoved 
countenance, as if he were merely signifying the employ- 
ment of an additional workman, or the purchase of a desira- 
ble rooster. 

Yet the subject of the brief conversation repeated above 
was no other than Bill Bowney, the most industrious 
and successful of the horse-thieves and “ road-agents ” that 
honored the southern portion of California with their 
presence. 

Nor did Bowney restrict himself to the duty of redistri- 
buting the property of other people. Perhaps he belonged 
to that class of political economists which considers super- 
fluous population an evil ; perhaps he was a religious en- 
thusiast, and ardently longed that all mankind should speed- 
ily see the pearly gates of the New Jerusalem. 

Be his motives what they might, it is certain that when 
an unarmed man met Bowney, entered into a discussion witn 
him, and lived verbally to report the same, he was looked 
upon with considei^ably more interest than a newly-made 
Congressman or a ten-thousand-acre farmer was able to 
inspire. 

The two men whose conversation we have recorded 


I SHEKIFF AND JUDGE TOO SLOW. 279 

studied tlie ears of their own horses for several minutes, 
after which the first speaker asked : 

“ How did you do it ?” 

I “Well,” replied the other man, “ther’ wasn’t anything 
I p’ tickler ’bout it. Me an’ him wuzn’t acquainted, so he didn’t 
suspect me. But I know’d his face — he wuz p’inted out to 
me once, durin’ the gold-rush to Kern Eiver, an’ I never for- 
got him. I wuz on a road I never traveled before — goin’ to 
see an old greaser, ownin’ a mighty pretty piece of ground I 
wanted — when all of a sudden I come on a cabin, an’ thar 
stood Bill in front of it, a-smokin’. I axed him fur a light, 
an’ when he came up to give it to me, I grabbed him by the 
shirt-collar an’ dug the spur into the mare. ’Twus kind of 
a mean trick, imposin’ on hospitality that-a-way ; but ’twuz 
Bowney, you know. He hollered, an’ I let him walk in 
front, but I kep’ him covered with the revolver till I met 
some fellers, that tied him good an’ tight. ’Twuzn’t excitin’ 
wurth a durn — that is, ixcep’ when his wife — I s’pose ’twuz 
— hollered, then I a’most wished I’d let him go.” 

“ Sheriff got him ?” inquired the first speaker. 

“Well, no,” returned the captor. “Sheriff an’ judge 
mean well, I s’pose ; but they’re slow — mighty slow. Be- 
sides, he’s got friends, an’ t^^ey might be too much fur the 
sheriff some night. We tuk him to the Broad Oak, an’ we 
thought we’d ax the neighbors over thar to-night, to talk 

* it over. Be thar ?” 

“ You bet 1 ” replied the first speaker. “ And I’ll bring 
my friends ; nothing like having plenty of witnesses in im- 
portant legal cases.” 

“Jus’ so,” responded the other. “Well, here’s till then 
I and the two men separated. 

• The Broad Oak was one of those magnificent trees which 
1 are found occasionally through Southern California, singly or 
! dispersed in handsome natural parks. 

The specimen which had so impressed people as to gain 
a special name for itself was not only noted for its size, but 
i because it had occasionally been selected as the handiest 


280 


OBJECT OE THE MEETING. 


place in which Judge Lynch could hold his court without 
fear of molestation by rival tribunals. 

Bill Bowney, under favorable circumstances, appeared to 
be a very homely, lazy, sneaking sort of an invidual ; but Bill 
Bowney, covered with dust, his eyes bloodshot, his clothes 
torn, and his hands and feet tightly bound, had not a single 
attractive feature about him. 

He stared earnestly up into the noble tree under whose 
shadow he lay ; but his glances were not of admiration — 
they seemed, rather, to be resting on two or three fragments 
of rope which remained on one of the lower limbs, and to 
express sentiments of the most utter loathing and disgust. 

The afternoon wore away, and the moon shone brilliantly 
down from the cloudless sky. 

The tramp of a horse was heard at a distance, but rapidly 
growing more distinct, and soon Bowney’s captor galloped 
uj) to the tree. 

. Then another horse was heard, then others, and soon ten 
or a dozen men were gathered together. 

Each man, after dismounting, walked up to where the 
captive lay, and gave him a searching look, and then they 
joined those who had already preceded them, and who were 
quietly chatting about wheat, cattle, trees — everything but 
the prisoner. 

Suddenly one of the party separated himself from the 
others, and' exclaimed : 

“ Gentlemen, there don’t seem to be anybody else a-comin* 
— we might as well ’tend to bizness. I move that Major 
Burkess takes the chair, if there’s no objections.” 

No objections were made, and Major Burkess — a slight, 
peaceable, gentlemanly-looking man — stepped out of the 
crowd, and said : 

“ You all know the object of this meeting, gentlemen. The 
first thing in order is to prove the identity of the prisoner.” 

“ Needn’t trouble yourself ’bout that,” growled the pris- 
oner. “ I’m Bill Bowney ; an’ yer too cowardly to untie me, 
though ther he a dozen uv yer.” 


PROVED MEAN AND COWARDLY. 


281 


I 

“ The prisoner admits he is Bill Bowney,” continued the 
[ niajor, “ but of course no gentleman will take offense at his 
remarks. Has any one any charge to make against him ?” 

“ Charges ?” cried an excitable farmer. “ Didn’t I catch 
him untying my horse, an’ ridin’ off on him from Budley’s ? 
Didn’t I tell him to drop that anamile, an’ didn’t he purty 
near drop me instead ? Charges ? — here’s the charge !” con- 
cluded the farmer, pointing significantly to a scar on his own 
temple. 

“Pity I didn’t draw a better bead !” growled the prisoner. 
“ The hoss only fetched two ounces.” 

“ Prisoner admits stealing Mr. Barke’s horse, and firing 
on Mr. Barke. Any further evidence ?” 

“ Bather, drawled an angular gentleman. “ I was goin’ 
up the valley by the stage, an’ all of a sudden the driver 
stopped where there wasn’t no station. There was fellers 
had hold of the leaders, an’ there was pistols p’inted at the 
driver an’ folks in general. Then our money an’ watches 
was took, an’ the feller that took mine had a cross-cut scar 
on the back of his hand — right hand ; maybe somebody’ll 
look at Bill’s.” 

The prisoner was carried into the moonlight, and the back 
,of his right hand was examined by the major. The prisoner 
was again placed under the tree. 

“ The cut’s there, as described,” said the major. “ Any- 
thing else ?” 

“ Ther’s this much,” said another. “ I busted up flat, 
you all know, on account of the dry season, last year, an’ I 
; hadn’t nothin’ left but my hoss. Bill Bowney knowed it as 
iwell’s anybody else, yet he come and stole that hoss. It 
pawed like thunder, an’ woke me up — fur ’twas night, an' 
light as ’tis now — an’ I seed Bowney a-ridin’ him off. ’Twas 
a sneakin’, mean, cowardly trick.” 

i The prisoner hung his head ; he would plead guilty to 
theft and attempt to kill, and defy his captors to do their 
worst ; but when meanness and cowardice were proved against 
him, he seemed ashamed of himself. 


282 


JUDGE LYNCH ON THE BENCH. 


“ Prisoner virtually admits the charge,*^ said the major, 
looking critically at Bowney. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Caney, late of Texas, “ what’s the use 
of wastin’ time this way ? Everybody knows that Bowney’s 
been at the bottom of all the deviltry that’s been done in the 
county this three year. Highway robbery’s a hangin’ offense 
in Texas an’ every other well-regilated State ; so’s hoss- 
stealin’, an’ so’s shootin* a man in the back, an’ yit Bowney’s 
done ev’ry one of ’em over an’ over agin. Ev’rybody knows 
what we come here fur, else what’s the reason ev’ry man’s 
got a nice little coil o’ rope on his saddle fur ? The longer 
the bizness is put off, the harder it’ll be to do. I move we ; 
string him up instanter.” 

“Second the motion!” exclaimed some one. 

“ I move we give him a chance to save himself,” said a 
quiet farmer from New England. “ When he’s in the road- ; 
agent business, he has a crowd to help him. Now, ’twouldj ' 
do us more good to clean them out than him alone, so let’s|i 
give him a chance to leave the State if he’ll tell who his] 
confederates are. Somebody’ll have to take care of him,i 
of course, till we can catch them, and make sure of it.” 

“ ’Twon’t cost the somebody much, then,” said the pris-, 
oner, firmly ; “ an’ I’d give a cool thousand for a shot at any , 
low-lived coyote that ’ud ax me to do sich an ungentlemanly 
thing.” 

“ Spoke like a man,” said Caney, of Texas. “ I hope ye’ll 
die easy for that. Bill.” 

“ The original motion prevails,” said the major ; “ all in. 
favor will say ay.” 

A decided “ ay ” broke from the party. (I 

“Whoever has the tallest horse will please lead him; 
up and unsaddle him,” said the major, after a slight pause.) 
“ The witnesses will take the prisoner in charge.” ,, 

A horse was brought under the limb, with the fragments 
of rope upon it, and the witnesses, one of them bearing a 
piece of rope, approached the prisoner. j 

The silence was terrible, and the feelings of all presenlj 


ONE WAY OP GIVING THE LIE. 


283 


vere greatly relieved when Bill Bowney — placed on the 
lorse, and seeing the rope hauled taught and fastened to a 
’Sough by a man in the tree — ^broke into a frenzy of cursing, 
^^Lud displayed the defiant courage peculiar to an animal at 

)ay. 

‘‘ Has the prisoner anything to say ?” asked the major, as 
3owney stopped for breath. 

“ Better own up, and save yourself and reform, and help 
id the world of those other scoundrels,” pleaded the New 
Englander. 

“ Don’t yer do it, Bill — don’t yer do it !” cried Caney, of 
Texas. “ Stick to yer friends, an’ die like a man !” 

“ That’s me !” said the prisoner, directing a special volley 
)f curses at the Njw Englander. “It’s ben said here that I 
vuz sneakin’ an’ cowardly ; ther’s one way of givin’ that fel- 
.er the lie — hurry up an’ do it !” 

“ When I raise my hand,” said the major, “ lead the horse 
iway ; and may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Bow- 
• ■ ” 

1 1 “ Amen !” fervently exclaimed the New Englander, 
i I Again there was a moment of terrible silence, and when 
7 ! gentle wind swept over the wild oats and through the tree, 
there seemed to sound on the air a sigh and a shudder. 

Suddenly all the horses started and pricked up their ears. 

“ Somebody’s cornin’ !” whispered one of the party. 
“ Sheriff’s got wind of the arrangements, maybe !” 

“ Comes from the wrong direction,” cried Caney, of Texas, 
q^uickly. “ It’s somebody on foot — an’ tired — an’ light-footed 
— other’s two or three — dunno what kind o’ bein’s they ken 
be. Thunder an’ lightnin’ !” 

Caney’s concluding remark was inspired by the sudden 
appearance of a woman, who rushed into the shadow of the 
tree, stopped, looked wildly about for a moment, and then 
threw herself against the prisoner’s feet, and uttered a low, 
pitiful cry. 

There was a low murmur from the crowd, and the major 
cried : 


284 A KESriTE. 

“ Take him down ; give liim fifteen minutes with his wife 
and see she doesn’t untie him.” 

The man in the tree loosened the rope, Bowney wa 
lifted off and placed on the ground again, and the woma: 



TAKE HIM DOWN ; GIVE HIM FIFTEEN MINUTES WITH HIS WIFE.” 


threw herself on the ground beside him, caressed his ugl; 
face, and wailed pitifully. The judge and jury fidgeted abou 
restlessly. Still the horses stood on the alert, and soo; 
three came through the oats — three children, all crying. 


THREE CHILDREN, ALL GIRLS. 285 

As they saw the men they became dumb, and stood mute 
md frightened, staring at their parents. 

They were not pretty — they were not even interesting, 
dother and children were alike — unwashed, uncombed, shoe- 
ess, and clothed in dirty, faded calico. The children were 
dl girls — the oldest not more than ten years old, and the 
youngest scarce five. None of them pleaded for the pris- 
)ner, but still the woman wailed and moaned, and the chil- 
Iren stood staring in dumb piteousness. 

The major stood quietly gazing at the face of his watch. 
Chere was not in Southern California a more honest man 
han Major Burkess ; yet the minute-hand of his watch had 
lot indicated more than one-half of fifteen minutes, when he 
ixclaimed : 

“ Time’s up !” 

The men approached the prisoner — the woman threw 
ler arms around him, and cried : 

“ My husband ! Oh, God !” 

“ Madam,'’ said the major, “ your husband’s life is in his 
)wn hands. He ca^ save himself by giving the names of his 
jonfederates and leaving the State.” 

“ I’ll tell you who they are ?” cried the woman. 

“ God curse yer if yer do !” hissed Bowneyfrom between 
jiis teeth. 

‘ “Better let him be, madam,” argued Caney, of Texas, 
le’d better die like a man than go back on his friends, 
dight tell us which of ’em was man enough to fetch you and 
'he young uns here ? We’ll try to be easy on him when we 
!:etch him.” 

I “ None of ’em,” sobbed the woman. “We walked, an* I 
I ook turns totin’ the young uns. My husband ! Oh, God ! 
jay husband !” 

“ Beg yer pardon, ma’am,” said Bowney’s captor, “ but 
'lobody can’t b’leeve that; it’s nigh onto twenty mile.” 

“ I’d ha’ done it ef it had been fifty,” cried the woman, 
ngrily, “when he wuz in trouble. Oh, God ! Oh, God ! Don’t 
er b’leeve it ? Then look here !” She picked up the 


286 


CONVINCENIST TALKERS. 


smallest child as she spoke, and in the dim light the me 
saw that its little feet were torn and bleeding. “’Twj 
their blood or his’n,” cried the woman, rapidly, “ an’ I didn 
know how to choose between ’em. God hev mercy on me 
I’m nigh crazy !” 

Caney, of Texas, took the child from its mother and ca: 
ried it to where the moonlight was unobstructed. He looke 
carefully at its feet, and then shouted : 

“ Bring the prisoner out here.” 

Two men carried Bowney to where Caney was standing 
and the whole party, with the woman and remaining chi 
dren, followed. 

“ Bill,” said Caney, “ 1 ain’t a askin’ yer to go back o 
yer friends, but them is — look at ’em.” 

And Caney held the child’s feet before the father’s eye 
while the woman threw her arms around his neck, and tl 
two older children crept up to the prisoner, and laid the 
faces against his legs. 

“ They’re a-talkin’ to yer. Bill,” resumed Caney, of Texa 
‘‘ an’ they’re the convincenist talkers I ever seed.” 

The desperado turned his eyes away ; but Caney move 
the child so its bleeding feet were still before its father 
eyes. 

The remaining men all retired beneath the shadow of th 
tree, for the tender little feet were talking to them, too, an 
they were ashamed of the results. 

Suddenly Bowney uttered a deep groan. 

“ ’Tain’t no use a-tryin’,” said he, in a resigned ton 
“ Everybody’ll be down on me, an’ after all I’ve done, toe 
But yer ken hev their names, curse yer !” 

The woman went into hysterics ; the children cried 
Caney, of Texas, ejaculated, “ Bully !” and then kissed th 
poor little bruised feet. 

The New Englander fervently exclaimed, “ Thank God I 

“ I’ll answer fur him till we get ’em,” said Caney, aftc 
the major had written down the names Bowney gave him 
“an’,” continued Caney, “somebody git the rest of thes 


THE BOWNEYS EMIGRATE. 


287 


1 

jyoTing Tins an’ tlier mother to my cabin powerful quick. 
jGood Lord, don’t I jist wish they wuz boys 1 I’d adopt the 
(hull family.” 

j The court informally adjourned sine die, but had so many 
meetings afterward at the same place to dispose of Bowney’s 
^accomplices, that his freedom was considered fairly pur- 
if chased, and he and his family were located a good way from 
. the scenes of his most noted exploits. 


r- 

]. 



Mil. PUTCHETT’S LOYE. 


TTJST after two o’clock, on a July afternoon, Mr. Putchett 
J mounted several steps of the Sub-Treasury in Wall 
Street, and gazed inquiringly up and down the street. 

To the sentimental observer Mr. Putchett’s action, in 
taking the position' we have indicated, may have seemed to 
signify that Mr. Putchettwas of unaspiring disposition, and^ 
that in ascending the steps he exemplified his desire to get' 
above the curbstone whose namejvas used as a qualifying 
adjective whenever Mr. Putchett was mentioned as a broker.! 
Those persons, however, who enjoyed the honor of Mr. 
Putchett’s acquaintance immediately understood that the 
operator in question was in funds that day, and that he hadS 
taken the position from which he could most easily an- 
nounce his moneyed condition to all who might desire 
assistance from him. 

It was rather late in the day for business, and certain 
persons who had until that hour been unsuccessful in ol> 
taining the accommodations desired were not at all particu- 
lar whether their demands were satisfied in a handsome 
office, or under the only roof that can be enjoyed free of rent 

There came to Mr. Putchett oddly-clothed members oJ 
his own profession, and offered for sale securities whose 
numbers Mr. Putchett compared with those on a list ol 
bonds stolen ; men who deposited with him small articles 
of personal property — ^principally jewelry — as collaterals on 
small loans at short time and usurious rates ; men who 
stood before him on the sidewalk, caught his eye, summoned 


GETTING READY TO LEAVE. 


289 


him by a slight motion of the head, and disappeared around 
the corner, whither Mr. Putchett followed them only to 
promptly transact business and hurry back to his business- 
stand. 

In fact, Mr. Putchett was very busy, and as in his case 
business invariably indicated profit, it was not wonderful 
that his rather unattractive face lightened and expressed its 
owner’s satisfaction at the amount of business he was doing. 
Suddenly, however, there attacked Mr. Putchett the fate 
which, in its peculiarity of visiting people in their happiest 
hours, has been bemoaned by poets of genuine and doubtful 
inspiration, from the days of the sweet singer of Israel unto 
those of that sweet singer of Erin, whose recital of experi- 
ence with young gazelles illustrates the remorselessness of 
the fate alluded to. 

Plainly speaking, Mr. Putchett went suddenly under a 
cloud, for during one of his dashes around the corner after a 
man who had signaled him, and at the same time commenced 
to remove a ring from his finger, a small, dirty boy handed 
Mr. Putchett a soiled card, on which was penciled : 

“Bayle is after you, about that diamond.” 

Despite the fact that Mr. Putchett had not been shaved 
for some days, and had apparently neglected the duty of 
facial ablution for quite as long a fime, he turned pale and 
looked quickly behind him and [across the street ; then 
muttering “ Just my luck !” and a few other words more 
desponding than polite in nature, he hurried to the Post- 
Office, where he penciled and dispatched a few postal-cards, 
signed in initials only, announcing an unexpected and tem- 
porary absence. Then, still looking carefully and often at 
the faces in sight, he entered a newspaper office and con- 
sulted a railway directory. He seemed in doubt, as he 
rapidly turned the leaves ; and when he reached the time- 
table of a certain road running near and parallel to the 
seaside, the change in his countenance indicated that he 
had learned the whereabouts of a city of refuge. 

An hour later Mr. Putchett, having to bid no family 


BOABD PAID IN ADVANCE. 


290 

good-by, to care for no securities save those stowed away in 
his capacious pockets, and freed from the annoyance of 
baggage by reason of the fact that he had on his back the 
only outer garments that he owned, was rapidly leaving 
New York on a train, which he had carefully assured himself 
did not carry the dre.aded Bayle. 

Once fairly started, Mr. Putchett in some measure re- 
covered his spirits. He introduced himself to a brakeman 
by means of a cigar, and questioned him until he satisfied 
himself that the place to which he had purchased a ticket 
was indeed unknown to the world, being far from the city, 
several miles from the railroad, and on a beach where boats 
could not safely land. He also learned that it was not a 
fashionable Summer resort, and that a few farmhouses 
(whose occupants took Summer boarders) and an unsuccess- 
ful hotel were the only buildings in the place. 

Arrived at his destination, Mr. Putchett registered at 
the hotel and paid the week’s board which the landlord, after 
a critical survey of his new patron, demanded in advance. 

Then the exiled operator tilted a chair in the barroom, 
lit an execrable cigar, and, instead of expressing sentiments 
of gratitude appropriate to the occasion, gave way to pro- 
fane condemnations of the bad fortune which had compelled 
him to abandon his business. 

He hungrily examined the faces of the few fishermen of 
the neighboring bay who came in to drink and smoke, but 
no one of them seemed likely to need money — certainly no 
one of them seemed to have acceptable collaterals about his 
person or clothing. On the contrary, these men, while each 
one threw Mr. Putchett a stare of greater or less magnitude, 
let the financier alone so completely that he was conscious 
of a severe wound in his self-esteem. 

It was a strange experience, and at first it angered him 
so that he strode up to the bar, ordered a glass of best 
brandy, and defiantly drank alone ; but neither the strength 
of the liquor nor the intensity of his anger prevented him 
from soon feeling decidedly lonely. 


ON THE BEACH. 


291 


At the cheap hotel at which he lodged when in New 
York there was no one who loved him or even feared him, 
but there were a few men of his own kind who had, for pur- 
poses of mutual recreation, tabooed business transactions 
with each other, and among these he found a grim sort of 
enjoyment — of companionship, at least. Here, however, he 
was so utterly alone as to be almost frightened, and the 
murmuring and moaning of the surf on the beach near the 
hotel added to his loneliness a sense of terror. 

Almost overcome by dismal forebodings, Mr. Putchett 
hurried out of the hotel and toward the beach. Once upon 
the sands, he felt better; the few people who were there 
were strangers, of course, but they were women and children ; 
and if the expression of those who noticed him was wonder- 
ing, it was inoffensive — at times even pitying, and Mr. Put- 
chett was in a humor to gratefully accept even pity. 

Soon the sun fell, and the people straggled toward their 
respective boarding-houses, and Mr. Putchett, to fight off 
loneliness as long as possible, rose from the bench on which 
he had been sitting and followed the party up the beach. 

He had supposed himself the last person that left the 
beach, but in a moment or two he heard a childish voice 
shouting : 

“ Mister, mister ! I guess you’ve lost something !” 

Mr. Putchett turned quickly, and saw a little girl, six or 
seven years of age, running toward him. In one hand she 
held a small pail and wooden shovel, and in the other some- 
thing bright, which was too large for her little hand to 
cover. 

She reached the broker’s side, turned up a bright, 
healthy face, opened her hand and displayed a watch, and 
said : 

“ It was right there on the bench where you were sitting. 
I couldn’t think what it was, it shone so.” 

Mr. Putchett at first looked suspiciously at the child, -for 
he had at one period of his life labored industriously in the 
business of dropping bogus pocketbooks and watches, 


292 


THE FINANCIER AND THE CHILD. 


and obtaining rewards from persons claiming to be tbeir 
owners. 

Examining the watch which the child handed him, how- 
ever, he recognized it as one upon which he had lent twenty 
dollars earlier in the day. 

First prudently replacing the watch in the pocket of his 
pantaloons, so as to avoid any complication while settling 
with the finder, he handed the child a quarter. 

“ Oh, no, thank you,” said she, hastily ; “ mamma gives 
me money whenever I need it.” 

The experienced operator immediately placed the frac- 
tional currency where it might not tempt the child to change 
her mind. Then he studied her face with considerable curi- 
osity, and asked : 

“ Do you live here ?” 

“ Oh, no,” she replied ; “we’re only spending the Summer 
here. We live in New York.” 

Mr. Putchett opened his eyes, whistled, and remarked : 

“ It’s very funny.” 

“ Why, I don’t think so,” said the child, very innocently. 
“Lots of people that board here come from New York. 
Don’t you want to see my well ? I dug the deepest well of 
anybody to-day. Just come and see — it’s only a few steps 
from here.” 

Mechanically, as one struggling with a problem above 
his comprehension, the financier followed the child, and 
gazed into a hole, perhaps a foot and a half deep, on the 
beach. 

“That’s my well,” said she, “and that one next it is 
Frank’s. Nellie’s is way up there. I guess hers would 
have been the biggest, but a wave came up and spoiled it.” 

Mr. Putchett looked from the well into the face of its 
little digger, and was suddenly conscious of an insane desire 
to drink some of the water. He took the child’s pail, dipped 
some water, and was carrying it to his lips, when the child 
spoiled what was probably the first sentimental feeling of 
Mr. Putchett’s life by hastily exclaiming ; 


IMPROVING HIS WARDROBE. 


293 


“ You mustn’t drink that — it’s salty !” 

The sentimentalist sorrowfully put the bitter draught 
away, and the child rattled on : 

“ If you’re down here to-morrow, I’ll show you where 
we find scallop-shells ; maybe you can find some with pink 
and yellow spots on them. Fve got some. If you don’t 
find any, I’ll give you one.” 

“ Thank you,” said her companion. 

Just then some one shouted “ Alice !” and the child ex- 
claiming, “ Mamma’s calling me ; good-by,” hurried away, 
while the broker walked slowly toward the hotel with an 
expression of countenance which would have hidden him 
from his oldest acquaintance. 

Mr. Putchett spent the evening on the piazza instead of 
in the barroom, and he neither smoked nor drank. Before 
retiring he contracted with the colored cook to shave him 
in the morning, and to black his boots ; and he visited the 
single store of the neighborhood and purchased a shirt, some 
collars, and a cravat. 

When in the morning he was duly shaved, dressed and 
brushed, he critically surveyed himself in the glass, and 
seemed quite dissatisfied. He moved from the glass, 
spread a newspaper on the table, and put into it the con- 
tents of his capacious pockets. A second examination before 
the glass seemed more satisfactory in result, thus indicating 
that to the eye of Mr. Putchett his well-stuffed pockets had 
been unsightly in effect. 

The paper and its contents he gave the landlord to 
deposit in the hotel safe ; then he ate a hurried, scanty 
breakfast, and again sought the bench on the beach. 

No one was in sight, for it was scarcely breakfast-time at 
the boarding-houses ; so he looked for little Alice’s well, and 
mourned to find that the tide had not even left any sign of 
its location. 

Then he seated himself on the bench again, contemplat- 
ing his boots, looked up the road, stared out to sea, and 
then looked up the road again, tried to decipher some of the 


294 


NOT GITINQ HIMSELF AWAT. 


names carved on the bench, walked backward and forward, 
looking up the road at each turn he made, and in every way 
indicated the unpleasant effect of hope deferred. 

rinally, however, after two hours of fruitless search, Mr. 
Putchett’s eyes were rewarded by the sight of little Alice 
approaching the beach with a bathing-party. He at first 
hurried forward to meet her, but he was restrained by a senti- 
ment found alike in curbstone-brokers and in charming 
young ladies — a feeling that it is not well to give one’s self 
away without first being sufficiently solicited to do so. 

He noticed, with a mingled pleasure and uneasiness, that 
libtle Alice did not at first recognize him, so greatly had his 
toilet altered his general appearance. 

Even after he made himself known, he was compelled to 
submit to further delay, for the party had come to the 
beach to bathe, and little Alice must bathe, too. 

She emerged from a bathing-house in a garb very odd to 
the eyes of Mr. Putchett, but one which did not at all 
change that gentleman’s opinion of the wearer. She ran 
into the water, was thrown down by the surf, she was 
swallowed by some big waves and dived through others, and 
all the while the veteran operator watched her with a solici- 
tude, which, despite his anxiety for her safety, gave him a 
sensation as delightful as it was strange. 

The bath ended, Alice rejoined Mr. Putchett and con- 
ducted him to the spot where the wonderful shells with pink 
and yellow spots were found. The new shell-seeker was 
disgusted when the child shouted “ Come along !” to several 
other children, and was correspondingly delighted when they 
said, in substance, that shells were not so attractive as once 
they were. 

Mr. Putchett’s researches in conchology were not partic- 
ularly successful, for while he manfully moved about in the 
uncomfortable and ungraceful position peculiar to shell- 
seekers, he looked rather at the healthy, honest, eager little 
face near him than at the beach itself. 

Suddenly, however, Mr. Putchett’s opinion of shells 


A NICE BOARDING-HOUSE. 295 

underwent a radical change, for the child, straightening her- 
self and taking something from her pocket, exclaimed : 

“ Oh, dear, somebody’s picked up all the pretty ones. I 
thought,may be, there mightn’t be any here, so I brought 
you one ; just see what pretty pink and yellow spots there 
are on it.” 

Mr. Putchett looked, and there came into his face the 
first flush of color that had been there — except in anger — 
for years. He had occasionally received presents from 
business acquaintances, but he had correctly looked at them 
as having been forwarded as investments, so they awakened 
feelings of suspicion rather than of pleasure. 

But at little Alice’s shell he looked long and earnestly, 
and when he put it into his pocket he looked for two or 
three moments far away, and yet at nothing in particular. 

“Do you have a nice boarding-house?” asked Alice, as 
they sauntered along the beach, stopping occasionally to 
pick up pebbles and to dig wells. 

“ Not very,” said Mr. Putchett, the sanded barroom and 
his own rather dismal chamber coming to his mind. 

“You ought to board where we do,” said Alice, en- 
thusiastically. “We have heaps of fun. Have you got a 
barn ?” 

Mr. Putchett confessed that he did not know. 

“Oh, we’ve got a splendid one!” exclaimed the child. 
“ There’s stalls, and a granary, and a carriage-house and two 
lofts in it. We put out hay to the horses, and they eat it 
right out of our hands — aren’t afraid a bit. Then we get 
into the granary, and bury ourselves all up in the oats, so 
only our heads stick out. The lofts are just lovely : one’s 
full of hay and the other’s full of wheat, and we chew the 
wheat, and make gum of it. The hay-stalks are real nice 
and sweet to chew, too. They only cut the hay last week, 
and we all rode in on the wagon — one, two, three, four — 
seven of us. Then we’ve got two croquet sets, and the boys 
make us whistles and squalks.” 

“ Squalks ?” interrogated the broker. 


296 ME. PUTCHETT BETAKES HIMSELF TO .^flE BAEN. 

** Tes ; tliey’re split quills, and you blow in tbem. They 
don’t make very pretty music, but it’s ever so funny. We’vo 
got two big swings and a hammock, too.” 

“ Is the house very full ?” asked Mr. Putchett. 

“ Not so very,” replied the child. “ If you come there to 
board, I’ll make Prank teach you how to make whistles.” 

That afternoon Mr. Putchett took the train for New 
York, from which city he returned the next morning with 
quite a well-filled trunk. It was afterward stated by a 
person who had closely observed the capitalist’s movements 
during his trip, that he had gone into a first-class clothier’s 
and demanded suits of the best material and latest cut, re- 
gardless of cost, and that he had pursued the same singular 
coarse at a gent’s furnishing store, and a fashionable 
jeweler’s. 

Certain it is that on the morning of Mr. Putchett’s return 
a gentleman very well dressed, though seemingly ill at ease 
in his clothing, called at Mrs. Brown’s boarding-house, and 
engaged a room, and that the younger ladies pronounced 
him very stylish and the older ones thought him very odd. 
But as he never intruded, spoke only when spoken to, and 
devoted himself earnestly and entirely to the task of amus- 
ing the children, the boarders all admitted that he was very 
good-hearted. 

Among Alice’s numerous confidences, during her second 
stroll with Mr. Putchett, was information as to the date 
of her seventh birthday, now very near at hand. When 
the day arrived, her adorer arose unusually early, and 
spent an impatient hour or two awaiting Alice’s appearance. 
As she bade him good-morning, he threw about her neck a 
chain, to which was attached an exquisite little watch ; then, 
while the delighted child was astonishing her parents and 
the other boarders, Mr. Putchett betook himself to the barn 
in a state of abject sheepishness. He did not appear again 
until summoned by the breakfast-bell, and even then he sat 
with a very red face, and with eyes directed at his plate 
only. The child’s mother remonstrated against so much 


A FAVORITE AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE. 297 

money being squandered on a cbild, and attempted to re- 
turn the watch, but he seemed so distressed at the idea 
that the lady dropped the subject. 

For a fortnight, Mr. Putchett remained at the boarding- 
house, and grew daily in the estimation of every one. From 
being thought queer and strange, he gradually gained the 
reputation of being the best-hearted, most guileless, most 
considerate man alive. He was the faithful squire of all the 
ladies, both young and old, and was adored by all the 
children. His conversational powers — except on matters of 
business — were not great, but his very ignorance on all 
general topics, and the humility born of that ignorance, 
gave to his manners a deference which was more gratifying 
to most ladies than brilliant loquacity would have been. He 
even helped little Alice to study a Sunday-school lesson, 
and the experience was so entirely new to him, that he be- 
came more deeply interested than the little learner herself. 
He went to church on Sunday, and was probably the most 
attentive listener the rather prosy old pastor had. 

Of course he bathed — everybody did. A stout rope was 
stretched from a post on the shore to a buoy in deep water 
where it was anchored, and back and forth on this rope 
capered every day twenty or thirty hideously dressed but 
very happy people, among whom might always be seen Mr. 
Putchett with a child on his shoulder. 

One day the waves seemed to viciously break near the 
shore, and the bathers all followed the rope out to where 
there were swells instead of breakers. Mr. Putchett was 
there, of course, with little Alice. He seemed perfectly 
enamored of the water, and delighted in venturing as far to 
the sea as the rope would allow, and there ride on the swells, 
and go through all other ridiculously happy antics peculiar 
to ocean-lovers who cannot swim. 

Suddenly Mr. Putchett’s hand seemed to receive a shock, 
and he felt himself sinking lower than usual, while above 
the noise of the surf and the confusion of voices he heard 


some one roar : 


298 


GOOD-BY, LITTLE ANGEL.” 

“ The rope has broken — scramble ashore !” 

The startled man pulled frantically at the piece of rope 
in his hand, but found to his horror that it offered no assist- 
ance ; it was evident that the break was between him and 
the shore. He kicked and paddled rapidly, but seemed to 
make no headway, and while Alice, realizing the danger, 
commenced to cry piteously, Mr. Putchett plainly saw on 
the shore the child’s mother in an apparent frenzy of ex- 
citement and terror. 

The few men present — mostly boarding-house keepers 
and also ex-sailors and fishermen — hastened with a piece of 
the broken rope to drag down a fishing-boat which lay on 
the sand beyond reach of the tide. Meanwhile a boy found 
a fishing-line, to the end of which a stone was fastened and 
thrown toward the imperiled couple. 

Mr. Putchett snatched at the line and caught it, and in 
an instant half a dozen women pulled upon it, only to have it 
break almost inside Mr. Putchett’ s hands. Again it was 
thrown, and again the frightened broker caught it. This 
time he wound it about Alice’s arm, put the end into her 
ha,nd, kissed her forehead, said, “ Good-by, little angel, God 
bless you,” and threw up his hand as a signal that the line 
should be drawn in. In less than a minute little Alice was 
in her mother’s arms, but when the line was ready to be 
thrown again, Mr. Putchett was not visible. 

By this time the boat was at the water’s edge, and four 
men — two of whom were familiar with rowing — sat at the 
oars, while two of the old fishermen stood by to launch the 
boat at the proper instant. Suddenly they shot it into 
the water, but the clumsy dip of an oar turned it broadside 
to the wave,’ and in an instant it was thrown, waterlogged, 
upon the beach. Several precious moments were spent in 
righting the boat and bailing out the water, after which the 
boat was safely launched, the fishermen sprang to the oars, 
and in a moment or two were abreast the buoy. 

Mr. Putchett was not to be seen — even had he reached 
the buoy it could not have supported him, for it was but a 


WHY HE WAS WANTED. 


299 


small stick of wood. One of the boarders — ^he who had 
swamped the boat — dived several times, and finally there 
came to the surface a confused mass of humanity which 
separated into the forms of the diver and the broker. 

A few strokes of the oars beached the boat, and old 
“ Captain ” Redding, who had spent his Winters at a gov- 
ernment life-saving station, picked up Mr. Putchett, carried 
him up to the dry sand, laid him face downward, raised his 
head a little, and shouted : 

“ Somebody stand between him and the sun so’s to 
shade his head ! Slap his hands, one man to each hand. 
Scrape up some of that hot, dry sand, and pile it on his feet 
and legs. Everybody else stand off and give him air.” 

The captain’s orders were promptly obeyed, and there 
the women and children, some of them weeping, and all of 
them pale and silent, stood in a group in front of the bath- 
ing-house and looked up. 

“ Somebody run to the hotel for brandy,” shouted the 
captain. 

“Here’s brandy,” said a strange voice, “and I’ve got a 
hundred dollars for you if you bring him to life.” 

Every one looked at the speaker, and seemed rather to 
dislike what they saw. He was a smart-looking man, but 
his face seemed very cold and forbidding ; he stood apart, 
with arms folded, and seemed regardless of the looks 
fastened upon him. Finally Mrs. Plough, one of the most 
successful and irrepressible gossips in*the neighborhood, 
approached him and asked him if he was a relative of Mr. 
Putchett’s. 

“ No, ma’am,” replied the man, with unmoved counten- 
ance. “I’m an officer with a warrant for his arrest, on 
suspicion of receiving stolen goods. I’ve searched his traps 
at the hotel and boarding-house this morning, but can’t 
find what I’m looking for. It’s been traced to him, though 
— has he shown any of you ladies a large diamond ?” 

“ No,” said Mrs. Blough, quite tartly, “ and none of us 
would have believed it of him, either.’ 


300 


THE STRING AROUND HIS NECK. 


**1 suppose not,” said the officer, his face softening a 
little. “ I’ve seen plenty of such cases before, though. Be- 
sides, it isn’t my first call on Putchett — ^not by several.” 

Mrs. Blough walked indignantly away, but, true to her 
nature, she quickly repeated her news to her neighbors. 

“He’s coming to!” shouted the captain, turning Mr. 
Putchett on his back and attempting to provoke respira- 
tion. The officer was by his side in a moment. Mr. 
Putchett’s eyes had closed naturally, the captain said, and 
his lips had moved. Suddenly the stranger laid a hand on 
the collar of the insensible man, and disclosed a cord about 
his neck. 

“Captain,” said the officer, in a voice very low, but 
hurried and trembling with excitement, “ Putchett’s had a 
very narrow escape, and I hate to trouble him, but I must 
do my duty. There’s been a five thousand dollar diamond 
traced to him. He advanced money on it, knowing it was 
stolen. I’ve searched his property and can’t find it, but I’ll 
bet a thousand it’s on that string around his neck — that’s 
Putchett all over. Now, you let me take it, and I’ll let him 
alone ; nobody else need know what’s happened. He seems 
to have behaved himself here, judging by the good opinion 
folks have of him, and he deserves to have a chance which 
he won’t get if I take him to jail.” 

The women had comprehended, from the look of the 
stranger and the captain, that something unusual was going 
on, and they had 'crowded nearer and nearer, until they 
heard the officer’s last words. 

“You’re a dreadful, hateful man!” exclaimed little 
Alice. 

The officer winced. 

“ Hush, daughter,” said Alice’s mother ; then she said : 
“ Let him take it, captain ; it’s too awful to think of a man’s 
going right to prison from the gates of death.” 

The officer did not wait for further permission, but 
hastily opened the bathing-dress of the still insensible 
figure. 


WHAT WAS FASTENED TO THE STEINO. 301 

Suddenly the officer started back with an oath, and the 
people saw, fastened to a string and lying over Mr. Put- 
chett’s heart, a small scallop-shell, variegated with pink 
and yellow spots. 

“ It’s one I gave him when I first came here, because he 
couldn’t find any,” sobbed little Alice. 

The officer, seeming suddenly to imagine that the gem 
might be secreted in the hollow of the shell, snatched at it 
and turned it over. Mr. Putchett’s arm suddenly moved ; 
his hand grasped the shell and carried it toward his lips ; 
his eyes opened for a moment and fell upon the officer, at 
the sight of whom Mr. Putchett shivered and closed his 
eyes again. 

“That chill’s a bad sign,” muttered the captain. 

Mr. Putchett’s eyes opened once more, and sought little 
Alice ; his face broke into a faint smile, and she stooped 
and kissed him. The smile on his face grew brighter for 
an instant, then he closed his eyes and quietly carried the 
case up to a Court of Final Appeals, before which the 
officer showed no desire to give evidence. 

Mr. Putchett was buried the next day, and most of the 
people in the neighborhood were invited to the funeral. 
The story went rapidly about the neighborhood, and in 
consequence there were present at the funeral a number of 
uninvited persons : among these were the cook, bar-keeper 
and hostler of the hotel, who stood uncomfortably a little 
way from the house until the procession started, when they 
followed at a respectful distance in the rear. 

When the grave was reached, those who dug it — who 
were also of those who carried the bier — were surprised to 
find the bottom of the coffin-box strewn and hidden with 
wild fiowers and scraps of evergreen. 

The service of the Church of England was read, and as 
the words, “Ashes to ashes; dust to dust,” were repeated, 
a bouquet of wild flowers was tossed over the heads of the 
mourners and into the grave. Mrs. Plough, though deeply 
affected by the services, looked quickly back to see who 


302 


THE J3USH OF WHITE ROSES. 


was tlie giver, and saw tlie officer (who had not been seen 
before that day) with snch an embarrassed countenance as 
to leave no room for doubt. He left before daylight next 
morning, to catch a very early train : but persons passing 
the old graveyard that day beheld on Putchett’s grave a 
handsome bush of white roses, which bush old Mrs. Gale, 
living near the hotel, declared was a darling pot-plant which 
had been purchased of her on the previous evening by an 
ill-favored man who declared he must have it, no matter how 
much he paid for it. 



THE MEANEST MAN AT BLIJGSEY’S. 

0 MINEES, whose gold-fever had not reached a ridicu- 



JL loTis degree of heat, Blugsey’s was certainly a very satis- 
factory location. The dirt was rich, the river ran dry, there 
was plenty of standing-room on the banks, which were 
devoid of rocks, the storekeeper dealt strictly on the square, 
and the saloon contained a pleasing variety of consolatory 
fluids, which were dispensed by Stumpy Flukes, ex-sailor, 
and as hearty a fellow as any one would ask to see. 

All thieves and claim-jumpers had been shot as fast as 
discovered, and the men who remained had taken each 
other’s measures with such i^.ccuracy, that genuine fights 
were about as unfrequent as prayer-meetings. 

The miners dug and washed, ate, drank, swore and 
gambled with that delightful freedom which exists only in 
localities where society is established on a firm and well- 
settled basis. 

Such being the condition of affairs at Blugsey’s, it 
seemed rather strange one morning, hours after breakfast, 
to see, sprinkled in every direction, a great number of idle 
picks, shovels and pans; in fact, the only mining imple- 
ments in use that morning were those handled by a single 
miner, who was digging and carrying and washing dirt with 
an industry which seemed to indicate that he was working 
as a substitute for each and every man in the camp. 

He was anything but a type of gold-hunters in general ; 
he was short and thin, and slight and stooping, and greatly 


304 


“ OLD SCEABBri»'GIlAB.” 

roimd-slioTildered ; his eyes were of a painfully uncertain 
cjray, and one of them displayed a cast which was his only 
striking feature ; his nose had started as a very retiring 
nose, but had changed its mind half-way down ; his lips 
were thin, and seemed to yearn for a close acquaintance 
with his large ears ; his face was sallow and thin, and 
thickly seamed, and his chin appeared to be only one of 
Nature’s hasty afterthoughts. Long, thin gray hair hung 
about his face, and imparted the only relief to the monoto- 
nous dinginess of his features and clothing. 

Such being the appearance of the man, it was scarcely 
natural to expect that miners in general would regard him 
as a special ornament to the profession. 

In fact, he had been dubbed ‘‘ Old Scrabblegrab ” on the 
second day of his occupancy of Claim No. 32, and such of 
his neighbors as possessed the gift of tongues had, after 
more intimate acquaintance with him, expressed themselves 
doubtful of the ability of language to properly embody 
Scrabblegrab’s character in a single name. 

The principal trouble was, that they were unable to 
make anything at all of his character ; there was nothing 
about him which they could understand, so they first sus- 
pected him, and then hated him violently, after the usual 
manner of society toward the incomprehensible. 

And on the particular morning which saw Scrabblegrab 
the only worker at Blugsey’s, the remaining miners were 
assembled in solemn conclave at Stumpy Fluke’s saloon, to 
determine what was to be done with the detested man. 

The scene was certainly an impressive one ; for such 
quiet had not been known at the saloon since the few mo- 
ments which intervened between the time, weeks before, 
when Broadhorn Jerry gave the lie to Captain Greed, and 
the captain, whose pistol happened to be unloaded, was 
ready to proceed to business. 

The average miner, when sober, possesses a degree of 
composure and gravity which would be admirable even in a 
judge of ripe experience, and miners, assembled as a delib- 


THE BOTTOM OUT OF THE PAN. 


305 


erative body, can display a dignity whicb would drive a 
venerable Senator or a British M. P. to the uttermost ex- 
treme of envy. 

On the occasion mentioned above, the miners ranged 
themselves near the unoccupied walls, and leaned at vari- 
ous graceful and awkward angles. Boston Ben, who was by 
natural right the ruler of the camp, took the chair — that is, 
he leaned against the centre of the bar. On the other side 
of the bar leaned Stumpy Flukes, displaying that degree of 
conscious importance which was only becoming to a man 
who, by virtue of his position, was sole and perpetual sec- 
retary and recorder to all stated meetings at Blugsey’s. 

Boston Ben glanced around the room, and then collec- 
tively announced the presence of a quorum, the formal or- 
ganization of the meeting, and its readiness for deliberation, 
by quietly remarking : 

“Blaze away !” 

Immediately one of the leaners regained the perpendic- 
ular, departed a pace from the wall, rolled his tobacco neatly 
into one cheek, and remarked : 

“We’ve stood it long enough — the bottom’s clean out of 
the pan, Mr. Chairman. Scrabblegrab’s declined bitters 
from haK the fellers in camp, an’ though his gray old top- 
knot’s kept ’em from takin’ satisfaction in the usual manner, 
they don’t feel no better ’bout it than they did.” 

The speaker subsided into his section of wall, composed 
himself into his own especial angles, and looked like a man 
who had fully discharged a conscientious duty. 

From the opposite wall there appeared another speaker, 
who indignantly remarked : 

“ Goin’ back on bitters ain’t a toothful to what he’s done. 
There’s young Curly^ that went last week. That boy played 
his hand in a style that would take the conceit clean out uv 
an angel But all to onct Curly took to lookin’ flaxed, an’ 
the judge here overheard Scrabblegrab askin’ Curly what 
he thort his mother’d say ef she knew he was makin’ his 
money that way ? The boy took on wuss an’ wuss, an’ now 


306 


LACKING THE TASTES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


he’s vamosed. Don’t b’lieve me ef yer don’t want ter, fel- 
lers — there’s the judge hisself.” 

The judge briskly advanced his spectacles, which had 
gained him his title, and said : 

“ True ez gospel ; and when I asked him ef he wasn’t 
ashamed of himself fur takin’ away the boy’s comfort, he 
said No, an’ that I d be a more decent man ef I’d give up 
keards myseK.” 

“ He’s alive yit !” said the first speaker, in a tone half of 
inquiry and half of reproof. 

“ I know it,” said the judge, hastening to explain. “ I’d 
lent my pepperbox to Mose when he went to ’Frisco, an’ the 
old man’s too little fur a man uv my size to hit.” 

The judge looked anxiously about until he felt assured 
his explanation had been generally accepted. Then he con- 
tinued : 

“ What’s he good fur, anyhow ? He can’t sing a song, 
except somethin’ about ‘ Tejus an’ tasteless hours,’ that no- 
body ever heard before, an’ don’t want to agin ; he don’t 
drink, he don’t play keards, he don’t even cuss when he 
tumbles into the river. Ev’ry man’s got his p’ints, an’ ef 
he hain’t got no good uns, he’s sure to have bad uns. Ef 
he’d only show ’em out, there might be somethin’ honest 
about it ; but when a feller jist eats an’ sleeps an’ works, 
an’ never shows any uv the tastes uv a gentleman, ther’s 
somethin’ wrong.” 

“ I don’t wish him any harm,” said a tall, good-natured 
fellow, who succeeded the judge ; “ but the feller’s looks is 
agin the reputation uv the place. In a camp like this here 
one, whar society’s first-class — no greasers nur pigtails nur 
lifers — it ain’t the thing to hev anybody around that 
looks like a corkscrew that’s been fed on green apples and 
watered with vinegar — it’s discouragin’ to gentlemen that 
might hev a notion of stakin’ a claim, fur the sake uv en- 
joyin’ our social advantages.” 

“ N-none uv yer hev got to the wust uv it yit,” remarked 
another. “ The old cuss is too fond uv his dust. Billy 


THE AEKAIGNMENT. 


307 


. Janks seen him a-buyin’ pork up to the store, an’ he handled 
ds pouch ez ef ’twas eggs instid of gold dust — poured it 
I 'ut as keerful ez yer please, an’ even scraped up a little bit 
le spilt. Now, when I wuz a little rat, an’ went to Sunday- 
t chool, they used to keep a-waggin’ at me ’bout evil com- 
) aunication a-corruptin’ o’ good manners. That’s what Tie'll 
) lo — fust thing yer know, other fellers’ll begin to be stingy, 
.n’ think gold dust wuz made to save instid uv to buy drinks 
[ m’ play keards fur. That's what it’ll come to.” 

“Beggin’ ev’rybody’s pardon,” interposed a deserter 
1 rom the army, “but these here perceedin’s is irreg’lar. 

I Tai’nt the square thing to take evidence till the pris’ner’s in 
jourt.” 

Boston Ben immediately detailed a special officer to 
rammon Old Scrabblegrab, declared a recess of five min- 
ites, and invited the boys to drink with him. 

Those who took sugar in theirs had the cup dashed from 
heir lips just as they were draining the delicious dregs, for 
he officer and culprit appeared, and the chairman rapped 
he assembly to order. 

Boston Ben had been an interested attendant at certain 
aw-courts in the States, so in the calm consciousness of his 
icquaintance with legal procedure he rapidly arraigned 
Scrabblegrab. 

“Scrabblegrab, you’re complained uv for goin’ back on 
3itters, coaxin’ Curly to give up keards, thus spoilin his 
;un, an’ knockin’ appreciatin’ observers out of their amuse- 
nent ; uv insultin’ the judge, uv not cussin’ when you stum- 
ble into the river, uv not havin’ any good p’ints, an’ not 
ijhowin’ yer bad ones ; uv bein’ a set-back on the tone uv 
he place — ^lookin’ like a green-apple-fed, vinegar-watere^^ 
i3orkscrew, or words to that effect ; an’, finally, in savin’ yer 
noney. What hev you got to say agin’ sentence bein’ passed 
bn yer?” 

The old man flushed as the chairman proceeded, and 
when the indictment reached its end, he replied, in a tone 
which indicated anything but respect for the court : 


308 


VERMONT BONE AND MUSCLE. 


“IVe got just this to say, that I paid my way here, I’ve 
asked no odds of any man sence I’ve ben here, an’ that 
anybody that takes pains to meddle with my affairs is ar 
impudent scoundrel !” 

Saying .which, the old man turned to go, while the court 
was paralyzed into silence. ■ I 

But Tom Dosser, a new arrival, and a famous shot, nov^ 
stepped in front of the old man. 

“ I ax yer parding,” said Tom, in the blandest of tones 
“ but, uv course, yer didn’t mean me when yer mentioned 
impudent scoundrels ?” 

“ Yes, I did — I meant you, and ev’rybody like yer,” re- 
plied the old man. 

Tom’s hand moved toward his pistol The chairmai 
expeditiously got out of range. Stumpy Flukes promptly 
retired to the extreme end of the bar, and groaned audibly. 

The old man toas in the wrong ; but, then, wasn’t it toi 
mean, when blood was so hard to get out, that these diffi 
culties ahoays took place just after he’d got the floor clean ? 

‘‘ I don’t generally shoot till the other feller draws,” ex 
plained Tom Dosser, while each man in the room wept wit! 
emotion as they realized they had lived to see Tom’s skll 
displayed before their very eyes — “ I don’t generally shoo 
till the other feller draws ; but you’d better be spry. 
usually make a little allowance for age, but- ” 

Tom’s further explanations were iudeflnitely delayed b; 
an abnormal contraction of his trachea, the same bein| 
induced by the old man’s right hand„ while his left seizec 
the unhappy Thomas by his waist-belt, and a second late; 
the dead shot of Blugsey’s was tossed into the middle of thf 
floor, somewhat as a sheaf of oats is tossed by a practicec 
hand. 

“Anybody else?” inquired the old man. “Ill back Yer 
mont bone an’ muscle agin’ the hull passel of ye, even if I h 
a deacon. ‘ The angel of the Lord encampeth round abou 
them that fear him.’ ” 

“The angel needn’t hurry hisself,” said Tom Dossei 


WHY THE DEACON WAS THERE. 


309 


fo picking kimself np, one joint at a time. “ Ef that’s thse 
il crowd yer travelin’ with, and they’ve got a grip anything 
m like yourn, I don’t want nothin’ to do with ’em.” 

Boston Ben looked excited, and roared • 
ri “This court’s adjourned sine dieJ^' 

Then he rushed up to the newly announced deacon, 
K caught him firmly by the right hand, slapped him heartily 
between the shoulders, and inquired, rather indignantly : 
s “ Say, old Angelchum, why didn’t you ever let folks know 
!( jrer style, instead uv trottin’ ’round like a melancholy clam 
with his shells shut up tight? That’s what this crowd 
wants to know ! Now yev opened down to bed-rock, we’ll 
git English Sam from Sonora, an’ git up the tallest kind uv 
ii a rasslin’ match.” 

1 “Not unless English Sam meddles with my business, 

i, you won’t,” replied the deacon, quickly. “ I’ve got enough 

j. to do fightin’ speretual foes.” 

i “ Oh,” said Boston Ben, “ we’ll manage it so the church 
? folks needn’t think ’twas a set-up job. We’!! put Sam up to 

botherin’ yer, and yer can tackle him at sight. Then ” 

“Excuse me, Boston,” interrupted Tom Dosser, “but 
yer don’t hit the mark. I’m from Vermont myself, an’ dea- 
cons there don’t fight for the fun of it, whatever they may 
do in the village hail from.” Then, turning to the old 
man, Tom asked : “ What part uv the old State be ye from, 
deacon, an’ what fetched ye out ?” 

“ From nigh Kutland,” replied the deacon, “ I hed a nice 
little place thar, an’ wuz doin’ well. But the young one’s 
eyes is bad. None uv the doctors thereabouts could do 
anythin’ fur ’em. Took her to Boston ; nobody thar could 
do anythin’ — said some of the European doctors were the 
only ones that could do the job safely. Costs money goin 
i to Europe an’ payin’ doctors — I couldn’t make it to hum in 
twenty year ; so I come here.” 

' “Only child?” inquired Tom Dosser, while the boys 
crowded about the two Vermonters, and got up a low buzz 
' of sympathetic conversation. 


310 


‘'good for the gal.” 

Tlie old man heard it all, and to liis lonesome and home; 
sick soul it was so sweet and comforting, that it melted hi 
natural reserve, and made him anxious to unbosom himsel 
to some one. So he answered Tom : 

“ Only child of my only darter.” 

“ Father dead?” inquired Tom Dosser. 

“ Better be,” replied the deacon, bitterly. “ He left he; 
soon after they were married.” 

“Mean skunk!” said Tom, sympathetically. 

“I want to judge as I’d he judged,” replied the deacon 
“ but I feel ez ef I couldn’t call that man bad enough names 
Hesby was ez good a g d ez ever lived, but she went to visi 
some uv our folks at Burlington, an’ fust thing I know’d sh( 
writ me she’d met this chap, and they’d been married, an 
wanted us to forgive her ; but he was so good, an’ she lovec 
him so dearly.” 

“ Good for the gal,” said Tom, and a murmur of apprO' 
bation ran through the crowd. 

“Of course, we forgave her. We’d hev done it ef sh< 
married Satan himself,” continued the deacon. “But we 
begged her to bring her husband up home, an’ let us lool 
at him. Whatever was good enough for her to love was good 
enough for us, and we meant to try to love Hesby’s hus- 
band.” 

“Done yer credit, deacon, too,” declared Tom, and again 
the crowd uttered a confirmatory murmur. “Ef some 
folks — deacons, too — wuz ez good — But go ahead, deac’n.” 

“ Next thing we heard from her, he had gone to the place 
he was raised in ; but a friend of his, who went with him, 
came back, an’ let out he’d got tight, an’ been arrested. She 
writ him right off, beggin’ him to come home, and go with 
her up to our place, where he could be out of temptation 
an’ where she’d love him dearer than ever.” 

“Pure gold, by thunder!” ejaculated Tom, while a low 
“ You bet,” was heard all over the room. 

Tom’s eyes were in such a condition that he thought thei 
deacon’s were misty, and the deacon noticed the same pecu- 
liarities about Tom. 


WHAT SHE TEACHES PET. 


311 


She never got a word from him,” continued the dea- 
con ; “ but one of her owm came back, addressed in his 
writing.” 

“ The infernal scoundrel !” growled Tom, while from the 
rest of. the boys escaped epithets which caused the deacon, 
indignant as he was, to shiver with horror. 

“ She was nearly crazy, an’ started to find him, but no- 
body knowed where he was. The postmaster said he’d 
come to the office ev’ry day for a fortnight, askin’ for a let- 
ter, so he must hev got hers.” 

“ Ef all women had such stuff in ’em,” sighed Tom, 
there’ll be one fool less in California. ’Xcuse me, deac’n.” 

“She never gev up hopin’ he’d come back,” said the 
leacon, in accents that seemed to indicate labored breath 
‘ an’ it sometimes seems ez ef such faith ’d be rew^arded by 
bhe Lord some time or other. She teaches Pet — that’s her 
3hild — to talk about her papa, an’ to kiss his pictur ; an* 
vhen she an’. Pet goes to sleep, his pictur’s on the pillar 
Deween ’em.” 

“ An’ the idee that any feller could be mean enough to 
go back on such a woman! Deacon, Pd track him right 
ihrough the world, an’ just tell him what you’ve told us. 
3f that didn’t fetch him, Pd consider it a Christian duty an’ 
privilege to put a hole through him.” 

“I couldn’t do that,” replied the deacon, “even ef I was 
1 , man uv blood ; fur Hesby loves him, an’ ke’s Pet’s dad; 
Besides, his pictur looks like a decent young chap — ain’t 
;ot no hair on his face, an’ looks more like an innercent boy 
i han anythin’ else. Hesby thinks Pet looks like him, an’ I 
I ouldn’t touch nobody looking like Pet. Mebbe you’d like 
o see her pictur,” continued the deacon, drawing from his 
(ocket an ambrotype, which he opened and handed Tom. 

. “ Looks sweet ez a posy,” said Tom, regarding it tender- 

y. “ Them little lips uv hern look jest like a rose when it 
on’t know whether to open a little further or not.” 

The deacon looked pleased, and extracted another pic- 
are, and remarked, as he handed it to Tom: 

“ That’s Pet’s mother.” 


312 


pet’s father explains. 


Tom took it, looked at it, and screamed : 

“ 3Iy wife !” 

He threw himself on the floor, and cried as only a big* 
hearted man can cry. i 

The deacon gazed wildly about, and gasped : 

“What’s his name? — tell me quick !” 

“ Tom Dosser !” answered a dozen or more. j 

“ That’s him ! Bless the Lord !” cried the deacon, and 
finding a seat, dropped into it, and buried his face in his 
hands. 

For several moments there was a magnificent attempt a1 
silence, but it utterly failed. The boys saw that the dea* 
con and Tom were working a very large claim, and to the 
best of their ability they assisted. 

Stumpy Flukes, under the friendly shelter of the bar, 
was able to fully express his feelings through his eyelids 
but the remainder of the party, by taking turns at staring 
out the windows, and contemplating the bottles behind 
the bar, managed to delude themselves into the belief thai 
their eyes- were invisible. Finally, Tom arose. “Deacon- 
boys,” he said, “ I never got that letter. I wus afeard she’c 
hear about my scrape, so I wrote her all about it, ez soor 
ez I got sober, an’ begged her to forgive me. An’ I waited 
an’ hoped an’ prayed for an answer, till I growed desperate 
an’ came out here.” 

“ She never heerd from you, Thomas,” sighed the dea- 
con. 

“Deac’n,” said Tom, “do you s’pose Fd hev kerriec 
this for years ” — here he drew out a small miniature of hh 
wife — “ ef I hadn’: loved her? Yes, an’ this too,” continued 
Tom, producing a thin package, wrapped in oilskin 
“ There’s the only two letters I ever got from her, an’, jus‘ 
’cos her hand writ ’em. I’ve had ’em just where I took ’en 
from for four years. I got ’em at Albany, ’fore I got oi 
that cussed tare, an’ they was both so sweet an’ wifely, tha 
I’ve never dared to read ’em since, fur fear that thinkin’ oi 
what I’d lost would make me even wuss than I am. But 1 


NAMING THEIR MEDICINE. 


313 


ain’t afeard now,” said Tom, eagerly tearing oS the oilskin, 
and disclosing two envelopes. 

He opened one, took out the letter, opened it with trem- 
bling hands, stared blankly at it, and handed it to the dea- 
con. 

“ Thar’s my letter now — I got ’em in the wrong enve- 
lope !” 

“ Thomas,” said the deacon, “ the best thing you can do 
[ is to deliver that letter yourself. An’ don’t let any grass 
I grow under your feet, ef you ken help it.” 

I “ I’m goin’ by the first hoss I ken steal,” said Tom. 

An’ tell her I’ll be along ez soon as I pan out enough,” 
continued tlie deacon. 

“An’ tell her,” said Boston Ben, “that the gov’nor won’t 
be much behind you. Tell her that when the crowd found 
out how game the old man was, and what was on his mind, 
that the court was so ashamed of hisself that he passed 
around the hat for Pet’s benefit, and” — ^here Boston Ben 
thoughtfully weighed the hat in his hands — “ and that the 
apology’s heavy enough to do Europe a dozen times ; I know 
it, for I’ve had to travel myself occasionally. ” 

Here he deposited the venerable tile with its precious 
contents on the floor in front of the deacon. The old man 
looked at it, and his eyes filled afresh, as he exclaimed : 

“ God bless you I I wish I could do something for you 
in return.” 

“Don’t mention it,” said Boston Ben, “unless — you — 
You couldn't make up your mind to a match with English 
Sam, could you ?” 

“ Come, boys,” interrupted Stumpy Flukes ; “ its my treat 
— name your medicine — fill high — all charged? — now then 
— bottom up, to ‘ The meanest man at Blugsey’s ’ !” 

“That did mean you, deacon!” exclaimed Tom; “but I 
claim it myself now, so — so I won’t drink it.” 

The remainder of the crowd clashed glasses, while Tom 
and his father-in-law bowed profoundly. Then the whole 
crowd went out to steal horses for the two men, and had 


314 : WHAT THE CHUECH HAD TO ANSWER FUR. 

them on the trail within an hour. As they rode off, Stumpy 
Plukes remarked : 

“ There’s a splendid shot ruined for life.” 

“Yes,” said Boston Ben, with a deep sigh struggling out 
of his manly bosom, “ an’ a bully rassler, too. The Church 
has got a good deal to answer fur, fur sp’ilin’ that man’s 
chances.” 


DEACON BARKEE^S CONYERSION. 


O F tlie several pillars of the Chiirch at Pawkin Centre, 
Deacon Barker was by all odds the strongest. His 
orthodoxy was the admiration of the entire congregation, 
and the terror of all the ministers within easy driving dis- 
tance of the Deacon’s native village. He it was who had 
argued the late pastor of the Pawkin Centre Church into 
that state of disquietude which had carried him, through a 
few days of delirious fever, into the Church triumphant ; and 
it was also Deacon Barker whose questions at the examina- 
tion of seekers for the ex-pastor’s shoes had cast such con- 
sternatio;n into divinity-schools, far and near, that soon it 
was very hard to find a candidate for ministerial honors at 
Pawkin Centre. 

Nor was his faith made manifest by words alone. Be 
the weather what it might, the Deacon was always in his 
pew, both morning and evening, in time to join in the first 
hymn, and on every Thursday night, at a quarter past seven 
in winter, and a quarter before eight in summer, the good 
Deacon’s cane and shoes could be heard coming solemnly 
down the aisle, bringing to the prayer-meeting the cham- 
pion of orthodoxy. Nor did the holy air of the prayer- 
meeting even one single evening fail to vibrate to the voice 
of the Deacon, as he made, in scriptural language, humble 
confessions and tearful pleadings before the throne, or — 
still strictly scriptural in expression — he warned and ex- 
horted the impenitent. The contribution-box always re- 
ceived his six^Dence as long as specie payment lasted, and 


316 


USING THE LOED’s MONEY. 


the smallest fractional currency note thereafter ; and to 
each of the regular annual offerings to the missionary cause, 
the Bible cause, and kindred Christian enterprises, the 
Deacon regularly contributed his dollar and his prayers. 

The Deacon could quote scripture in a manner which 
put Biblical professors to the blush, and every principle of 
his creed so bristled with texts, confirmatory, sustentive and 
aggressive, that doubters were rebuked and free-thinkers 
were speedily reduced to speechless humility or rage. But 
the unregenerate, and even some who professed righteous- 
ness, declared that more fondly than to any other scriptural 
passage did the good Deacon cling to the injunction, 
“ Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteous- 
ness.” Meekly insisting that he was only a steward of the 
Lord, he put out his Lord’s money that he might receive it 
again with usury, and so successful had he been that almost 
all mortgages held on property near Pawkin Centre were in 
the hands of the good Deacon, and few were the foreclosure 
sales in which he was not the seller. 

The new pastor at Pawkin Centre, like good pastors 
everywhere, had tortured himself into many a headache 
over the perplexing question, “ How are we to reach the 
impenitent in our midst !” The said impenitent were, with 
but few exceptions, industrious, honest, respectable, law- 
abiding people, and the worthy pastor, as fully impregnated 
with Yankee-thrift as with piety, shuddered to think of the 
waste of souls that was constantly threatening. ^ At length, 
like many another pastor, he called a meeting of the breth- 
ren, to prayerfully consider, this momentous question. The 
Deacon came, of course, and so did all the other pillars, 
and many of them presented their views. Brother Grave 
thought the final doom of the impenitent should be more 
forcibly presented ; Deacon Struggs had an abiding convic- 
tion that it was the Man of Sin holding dominion in their 
hearts chat kept these people away from the means of 
grace ; Deacon Ponder mildlj suggested that the object 
might perhaps be attained if those within the fold main- 


THE deacon’s mission. 


317 


tained a more godly walk and conversation, bnt lie was 
promptly though covertly rebuked by the good Deacon 
Barker, who reminded the brethren that “it is the Spirit 
that quickeneth”; Brother Elite, who hadn’t any money, 
thought the Church -ought to build a “working-man’s 
chapel,” but this idea was promptly and vigorously com- 
bated by all men of property in the congregation. By this 
time the usual closing hour had arrived, and after a bene- 
diction the faithful dispersed, each with about the ideas 
he brought to the meeting. 

Early next morning the good Deacon Barker, with his 
mind half full of the state of the unconverted, and half of 
his unfinished cow-shed, todk his stick and hobbled about 
the village in search of a carpenter to finish the incomplete 
structure. There was Moggs, but Moggs had been busy all 
the season, and it would be just like him to want- full price 
for a day’ 6 work. Stubb was idle, but Stubb was slow. 

Augur ^Augur used liquor, and the Deacon had long ago 

firmly resolved that not a cent of his money, if he could 
help it, should ever go for the accursed stuff. But there 
was Hay — he hadn’t seen him at 'work for a long time — 
perhaps he would be anxious enough for work to do it 
( cheaply. 

The Deacon knocked at Hay’s door, and Hay himself 
shouted : 

“ Come in.” 

“ How are ye, George,” said the Deacon, looking hastily 
about the room, and delightfully determining, from the 
patient face of sad-eyed Mrs. Hay and the scanty furnishing 
of the yet uncleared breakfast-table, that he had been provi- 
dentially guided to the right spot. “ How’s times with ye ?” 

“ Not very good, Deac’n,” replied Hay. “ Nothin’ much 
doin’ in town.” 

“ Money’s awful sceerce,” groaned the Deacon. 

“Dreadful,” responded George, devoutly thanking the 
Lord that he owed the Deacon nothing. 

“ Got much to do this winter ?” asked the Deacon. 


318 


VALUE OF LABOE ON A COW-SHED. 


‘‘Not by a d — day’s job — not a single day,” sorrowfully 
replied Hay. 

The Deacon’s pious ear bad been shocked by the young 
man’s imperfectly concealed profanity, and for an instant he 
thought of administering a rebuke, but the charms of pro- 
spective cheap labor lured the good man from the path of 
rectitude. 

“ I’m fixin’ my cow-shed — might p’raps give ye a job 
on’t. ’Spose ye’d do it cheap, seein’ how dull ev’ry thin* 
is?” 

The sad eyes of Mrs. Hay grew bright in an instant. 
Her husband’s heart jumped up, but he knew to whom he 
was talking, so he said, as calmly as possible ; 

“ Three dollars is reg’lar pay.” 

The Deacon immediately straightened up as if to go. ' 

“ Too much,” said he ; “ I’d better hire a eommon lab’rer 
at a dollar ’n a half, an’ boss him myself. It’s only a cow- 
shed, ye know.” 

“ Guess, though, ye won’t want the. nails druv no less 
p’ticler, will ye, Deac’n ?’.’ inquired Hay. “ But I tell yer 
what I’ll do — I’ll throw, off fifty cents a day.” 

“ Two dollars ort to be enough, George,” resumed the 
Deacon. “ Carpenterin’s pooty work, an’ takes a sight of 
headpiece sometimes, but there’s no intellec’ required to 
work on a cow-shed. Say two dollars, an’ come along.” 

The carpenter thought bitterly of what a little way the 
usual three dollars went, and of how much would have to 
be done with what he could get out of the cow-shed, but 
the idea of losing even that was too horrible to be endured, 
so he hastily replied : 

“ Two an’ a quarter, an’ I’m your man.” 

“Well,” said the Deacon, “it’s a powerful price to pay 
for work on a cow-shed, but I s’pose I mus’ stan’ it. Hurry 
up ; thar’s the mill-whistle blowin’ seven.” 

Hay snatched his tools, kissed a couple of thankful tears 
out of his wife’s eyes, and was soon busy on the cow-shed, 
with the Deacon looking on. 


COW-SHEDS AND HELL. 


319 


“ George,” said the Deacon suddenly, cansing the car- 
penter to stop his hammer in mid-air, “ think it over agen, 
an’ say two dollars.” 

Hay gave the good Deacon a withering glance, and for a 
few moments the force of suppressed profanity caused his 
hammer to bang with unusual vigor, while the owner of the 
cow-shed rubbed his hands in ecstasy at the industry of his 
employe. 

The air was bracing, the Winter sun shone brilliantly, 
the Deacon’s breakfast was digesting fairly, and his mind 
had not yet freed itself from the influences of the Sabbath. 
Besides, he had secured a good workman at a low price, 
and all these influences combined to put the Deacon in a 
pleasant frame of mind. He rambled through his mind for 
a text which would piously express his condition, and texts 
brought back Sunday, and Sunday reminded him of the 
meeting of the 'night before. And here was one of those 
very men before him — a good man in many respects, though 
he tvas higher-priced than he should be. How was the 
cause of the Master to be prospered if His servants made 
no effort? Then there came to the Deacon’s mind the 

passage, “ he which converteth the sinner from the error 

of his way shall save a soul from death, ai^d shall hide a 
multitude of sins.” What particular sins of his own needed 
hiding the Deacon did not And it convenient to remember 
just then, but he meekly admitted to himself and the Lord 
that he had them, in a general way. Then, with that direct- 
ness and grace which were characteristic of him, the Deacon 
solemnly said : 

“ George, what is to be the sinner’s doom ?” 

“ I dunno,” replied George, his wrath still warm ; ‘‘’pears 
to me you’ve left that bizness till pretty late in life, Deac’n !” 

“Don’t trifle with sacrid subjec’s, George,” said the Dea- 
con, still very solemn, and with a suspicion of annoyance 
in his voice. “ The wicked shall be cast into hell, with — ” 

“ They can’t kerry their cow-sheds with ’em, neither,” 
interrupted George, consolingly. 


320 THE deacon’s economy CEOrS OUT. 

“ Come, George,” saidf the good Deacon, in an appealing 
tone, “remember the apostle says, ‘Suffer the word of ex- 
hortation.’ ” 

“ ’Xcuse me, Deac’n, but one sufferin’ at a time ; I ain’t 
through sufferin’ at bein’ beaten down yet. How.>about 
deac’ns not being ‘given to filthy lucre?’ ” 

The good Deacon was pained, and he was almost out of 
patience with the apostle for writing things which came so 
handy to the lips of the unregenerate. He commenced an 
industrious search for a text which should completely an- 
nihilate the impious carpenter, when that individual inter- 
rupted him with : 

“ Out with it, Deac’n— ye had a meetin’ las’ night to see 
what was to be done with the impenitent. I was there — 
that is, I sot on a stool jest outside the door, an’ I heerd all 
’twas said. Ye didn’t agree on nothin’ — mebbe ye’v fixed 
it up sence. Any how, ye’v sot me down fur one of the im- 
penitent, an’ yer goin’ fur me. Well ” 

“ Go on nailin’,” interrupted the economical Deacon, a 
little testily ; the noise don’t disturb mo ; I can hear ye.” 

“ WcjII, what way am I so much wickeder ’n you be — ^you 
an’ t’other folks at the meetin’ -house ?” asked Hay. 

“ George, I never saw ye in God’s house in my life,” re- 
plied the Deacon. 

“Well, s’pose ye hevn't — is God so small He can’t be 
nowheres ’xcept in your little meetin’-house ? How about 
His seein’ folks in their closets ?” 

“George,” said the Deacon, “ef yer a prayin’ man, why 
don’t ye jine yerself unto the Lord’s people ?” 

“Why? ’Cos the Lord’s f)eople, as you call ’em, don’t 
want me. S’pose I was to come to the meetin’-house in 
these clothes — the only ones I’ve got — d’ye s’pose any of the 
Lord’s people ’d open a pew-door to me ? An’ spose my 
wife an’ children, dressed no better ’n I be,^but as good ’s I 
can afford, was with me, how d’ye s’pose I’d feel ?” 

“ Pride goeth before a fall, an’ a haughty sperit before,” 
groaned the Deacon, when the carpenter again interrupted. 


FOLKS KEPT OUT OF THE MEETING-HOUSE. 321 

*‘I’d feel as ef tlie tlie people of God was a gang of in- 
sultin’ hypocrites, an’ ez ef I didn’t ever want to see ’em 
again. Ef that kind o’ pride’s sinful, the devil’s a saint. 
Ef there’s anythin’ wrong about a man’s feelin’ so about 
himself and them God give him, God’s to blame for it him- 
self ; but seein’ it’s the same feelin’ that makes folks keep 
’emselves strait in all other matters. I’ll keep on thinkin’ 
it’s right.”. 

“But the preveleges of the Gospel, George,” remon- 
strated the Deacon. 

“Don’t you s’pose I know whaf they’re wuth?” con- 
tinued the carpenter. “ Haven’t I hung around in front of 
the meetin’ -house Summer nights, when the winders was 
open, jest to listen to the singin’ and what else I could hear? 
Hezn’t my wife ben with me there many a time, and hevn’t 
both of us prayed an’ groaned an’ cried in our hearts, not 
only ’cos we couldn’t join in.it all ourselves, but ’cos we 
couldn’t send the children either, without their learnin’ to 
hate religion ’fore they fairly know’d what ’twas ? Haven’t 
I sneaked in to the vestibule Winter nights, an’ sot just 
where I did last night, an’ heard what I’d ’a liked my wife 
and children to hear, an’ prayed for the time to come when 
the self-app’inted elect shouldn’t offend the little ones? An’ 
after sittin’ there last night, an’ cornin’ home and tellin’ my 
wufe how folks was concerned about us, an’ our rejoicin’ 
together in the hope that some day our children could hev 
the, chances we’re shut out of now, who should come along 
this mornin’ but one of those same holy people, and Jewed 
me down on pay that the Lord knows is hard enough to 
live on.” 

The Deacon had a heart, and he knew the nature of self- 
respect as well as men generally. His mind ran entirely 
outside of texts for a few minutes, and then, with a sigh for 
the probable expense, he remarked : 

“ Beckon Elite’s notion was right, after all — ther’ ort to 
be a workin’-man’s chapel.” 

“ Ort ?” responded Hay ; “ who d’ye s’pose ’d go to it ? 


322 


CHEAP RELIGION NOT WANTED. 


Nobody ? Te can rent ns second-class bouses, an’ sell ns 
second-hand do thin’, and the cheapest cuts o’ meat, but 
when it comes to cheap religion — nobody knows its value 
better ’n we do. "We don’t want to go into yer parlors on 
carpets and furniture we don’t know how to use, an’ we 
don’t expect to be asked into society where our talk an’ 
manners might make some better eddicated people laugh. 
But when it comes to religion — God knows nobody needs 
an’ deserves the very best article more ’n we do.” 

The Beacon was a reasonable man, and being old, was 
beginning to try to look fairly at matters upon which he 
expected soon to be very thorouglily examined. The indig- 
nant protest of the carpenter had, he feared, a great deal of 
reason, and yet — God’s people deserved to hold their posi- 
tion, if, as usual, the argument ended where it began. So 
he asked, rather triumphantly : 

“ What is to be done, then ?” 

“ Boform God’s people themselves,” replied the carpen- 
ter, to the horror of the pious old man. “ When the right 
hand of fellowship is reached out to the front, instead of 
stuck behind the back when a poor man comes along, 
there’ll be plenty -that’ll be glad to take it. E-eform yer own 
people, Beac’n. ’Fore yer pick out of our eyes the motes 
we’ll be glad enough to get' rid of, ye can get a fine lot of 
heavy lumber out of yer own.” 

Soldiers of the Cross, no more than any other soldiers, 
should stand still and be peppered when unable to reply ; 
at least so thought the Beacon, and he prudently with- 
drew. 

Beform God’s people themselves ! The Beacon was too 
old a boy to tell tales out of school, but he knew well enough 
there was room for reform. Of course there was — weren’t 
we all poor sinners ? — when we would do good wasn’t evil 
ever present with us ? — what business had other sinners to 
complain, when they wern’t, at least, any better ? Besides, 
suppose he were to try to reform the ways of Brother 
Graves and Beacon Struggs and others he had in his mind 


THE DEACON THINKING. 


323 


— ^woTild they rest until they had attempted to reform him ? 
And who was to know just what quantity and quality of 
reform was necessary ? “ Be not carried about with divers 
and strange doctrines.” The matter was too great for his 
comprehension, so he obeyed the injunction, “ Commit thy 
way unto the Lord.” 

But the Lord relegated the entire matter to the Deacon. 
Hay did a full day’s work, the Deacon made a neat little 
sum by recovering on an old judgment he had bought for a 
mere song, and the Deacon’s red cow made an addition to 
the family in the calf-pen; yet the Deacon was far from 
comfortable. The idea that certain people must stay away 
from God’s house until God’s people were reformed, seemed 
to the Deacon’s really human heart something terrible. If 
they tvovld be so proud — and yet, people who would stand 
outside the meeting-house and listen, and pray and weep 
because their children were as badly off as they, could 
scarcely be very proud. He knew there couldn’t be many 
such, else this out-of-door congregation would be noticed — 
there certainly wasn’t a full congregation of modest me- 
chanics in the vestibule of which Hay spoke, and yet, who 
could tell how many more were anxious and troubled on 
the subject of their eternal welfare. 

What a pity it was that those working-men who wished 
to repair to the sanctuary could not have steady work and 
full pay ! If he had only known all this early in the morn- 
ing, he did not know but he might have hired him at three 
dollars ; though, really, was a man to blame for doing his 
best in the labor market ? “ Ye cannot serve God and mam- 
mon.” Gracious ! he could almost declare he heard the 
excited carpenter’s voice delivering that text. What had 
brought that text into his head just now ? — he had never 
thought of it before. 

The Deacon rolled and tossed on his bed, and the sub- 
ject of his conversation with the carpenter tormented him 
so he could not sleep. Of one thing he was certain, and 
that was that the reform of the Church at Pawkin Centre 


324 


THE COST OF A CHUIICH SUIT. 


•was not to be relied on in an extremity, and was not such 
hungering and thirsting after righteousness an extreme 
case ? — had he ever really known many such ! If Hay only 
had means, the problem would afford its own solution. The 
good Deacon solemnly declared to himself that if Hay could 
give good security, he (the Deacon) would try to lend him 
the money. 

I But even this (to the Deacon) extraordinary concession 
was unproductive of sleep. “ He that giveth to the poor 
lendethto the Lord.” There! he could hear that indignant 
carpenter again. What an unsatisfactory passage that was, 
to be sure ! If it would only read the other way — it didn’t 
seem a bit business-like the way it stood. And yet, as the 
Deacon questioned himself there in the dark, he was forced 
to admit that he had a very small balance — even of loans — 
to his credit in the hands of the Lord. He had never lent 
to the Lord except in his usual business manner — as small 
a loan as would be accepted, on as extensive collaterals as 
he could exact. Oh, why did people ever forsake the sim- 
ple raiment of their forefathers, and robe themselves in 
garments grievous in price, and stumbling-blocks in the 
path of their fellow-men ? 

But sleep failed even to follow this pious reflection. 
Suppose — only suppose, of course — that he were to give — 
lend, that is — ^lend Hay money enough to dress his family 
fit for church — think what a terrible lot of money it would 
take ! A common neat suit for a man would cost at least 
thirty dollars, an overcoat nearly twice as much ; a suit 
cloak, and other necessities for his wife would amount to as 
much more, and the children — oh, the thing couldn’t be 
done for less than two hundred and fifty dollars. Of course, 
it was entirely out of the question — he had only wondered 
what it would cost — that was all. 

Still no sleep. He wished he hadn’t spoken with Hay 
about his soul — next time he would mind his own business. 
He wished he hadn’t employed Hay. He wished the meet- 
ing for consideration of the needs of the impenitent had 


THE THREE HUNDRED DOLLAR LOAN. 


325 


never taken place. “No man can come to me except the 
Father which sent me draw him”- — ^he wished he had 
remembered that passage, and quoted it at the meeting 
— it was no light matter to interfere with the Almighty’s 
plans. 

“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.” 
Hah ! Govld that carpenter be in the room, disarranging his 
train of thought with such — such — tantalizing texts ! They 
had kept him awake, and at his time of life a restless night 
was a serious matter. Suppose 

Yery early the next morning the village doctor, return- 
ing from a patient’s bedside, met the Deacon with a face 
which suggested to him (the doctor was pious and imagin- 
ative) “ Abraham on Mount Moriah.” The village butcher, 
more practical, hailed the good man, and informed him he 
was in time for a fine steak, but the Deacon shook his head 
in agony, and passed on. He neared the carpenter’s house, 
stopped, tottered, and looked over his shoulder as if intend- 
ing to run ; at length he made his way behind the house, 
where Kay was chopping firewood. The . carpenter saw 
him and turned pale — he feared the Deacon had found 
cheaper labor, and had come to give him warning. 

“George,” said the Deacon, “ I’ve been doin’ a heap of 
thinkin’ ’bout what we talked of yesterday. I’ve come to 
say that if you like I’ll lend you three hundred dollars fur 
as long as ye’ v a mind to, without note, security or int’rest ; 
you to spend as much of it ez ye need to dress you an’ yer 
hull fam’ly in Sunday clothes, and to put the balance in 
the Savin’s Bank, at interest, to go on doin’ the same with 
when necessary. An’ all of ye to go to church when ye feel 
so disposed. An’ ef nobody else’s pew-door opens, yer 
alius welcome to mine. And may the Lord ” the Deacon 
finished the sentence to himself— “ have mercy on my soul.” 
Then he said, aloud : 

“That’s all.” 

The carpenter, at the beginning of the Deacon’s speech, 
had dropped his axe, to the imminent danger of one of his 


326 


EEPENTING A GOOD DEED. 


feet. As tlie Deacon continued, the carpenter dropped his 
head to one side, raised one eye-brow inquiringly, and 
awaited the conditions. But when the Deacon said “ That’s 
all,” George Hay seized the Deacon’s hard old hand, gave 
it a grasp which brought agonized tears to the eyes of its 
venerable owner, and exclaimed : 

“ Deacon, God’s people are reformin’ ! ” 

The Deacon staggered a little — he had not thought of it 
in that light before. 

“ Deacon, that money ’ll do more good than all the prayin’ 
ye ever done. ’Xcuse me — I must tell Mary,” and the car- 
penter dashed into the house. Had Mrs. Hay respected 
the dramatic proprieties, she would have made the Deacon 
a neat speech ; but the truth is, she regarded him from be- 
hind the window-blind, and wiped her eyes with the corner 
of her apron ; seeing which the Deacon abruptly started for 
home, making less use of his cane than he had done in any 
day for years. 

It is grievous to relate, but truth is mighty — that within 
a fortnight the good Deacon repented of his generous ac- 
tion at least fifty times. He would die in the poor-house if 
he were so extravagant again. Three hundred dollars was 
more than the cow-shed — lumber, shingles, nails, labor and 
all — would cost. Suppose Hay should take the money and 
go West ? Suppose he should take to drinking, and spend 
it all for liquor! One suspicion after another tortured the 
poor man until he grew thin and nervous. But on the sec- 
ond Sunday, having satisfied himself that Hay was in town, 
sober, the day before, that he had been to the city and 
brought back bundles, and that he (the Deacon) had seldom 
been in the street without meeting one of Hay’s children 
with a paper of hooks and eyes or a spool of thread, the 
Deacon stationed himself in one of his own front windows, 
and brought his spectacles to bear on Hay’s door, a little 
distance off. The first bell had rung, apparently, hours 
before, yet no one appeared — could it be that he had basely 
sneaked to the city at night and pawned everything ? No — 


THE CONVERSION. 


327 


the door opened — there they came. It conldnH be — ^yes, it 
was — well, he never imagined Hay and his wife were so fine 
a-looking couple. They came nearer, and the Deacon, for- 
getting his cane, hobbled hurriedly to church, entered his 
pew, and left the door wide open. He waited long, it seem- 
ed to him, but they did not come. He looked around im- 
patiently, and there, O, joy and wonder ! — the president of 
the Pawkin Savings’ Institution had invited the whole fam- 
ily into his pew! Just then the congregation rose to sing 
the hymn commencing : 

“ Fi om all that dwell below the skies 
Let the Creator’s praise arise” ; 

and the Deacon, in his excitement, distanced the choir, and 
the organ, and the congregation, and almost brought the 
entire musical service to a standstill. 

The Deacon had intended to watch closely for Hays’ con- 
version, but something wonderful prevented — it was report- 
ed everywhere that the Deacon himself had been converted, 
and all who now saw the Deacon fully believed the report. 
He was even heard to^say that as there -seemed to be some 
doubt as to whether faith or works was the saving virtue, 
he intended thereafter to practice both. He no longer 
mentions the poor-house as his prospective dv/elling, but is 
heard to say that in his Father’s house there are many 
mansions, and that he is laying up his treasure in heaven 
as fast as possible, and hopes he may get it all on the way 
there before his heart is called for. At the post-office, the 
tin-shop and the rum-shop the Deacon’s conversion is con- 
stantly discussed, and men of all degrees now express a be- 
lief in the mighty power of the Spirit from on high. Other 
moneyed men have been smitten and changed, and the pas- 
tor of the Pawkin Centre Church daily thanks the Lord for 
such a revival as he never heard of before. 


JOE GATTER’S IJFE INSURANCE. 


G ood? He was tlie model boy of Bungfield. While his 
idle school-mates were flying kites and playing marbles; 
the prudent J oseph was trading Sunday-school tickets for 
strawberries and eggs, which he converted into currency of 
the republic. As he grew up, and his old school-mates pur- 
chased cravats and hair-oil at Squire Tackey’s store, it was 
the industrious Joseph who stood behind the counter, 
wrapped up their purchases, and took their money. When 
the same boys stood on the street-corners and cast sheep’s 
eyes at the girls, the business-like Joseph stood in the 
store-door and “contemplated these 'same boys with eyes 
such as a hungry cat casts upon a brood of young birds 
who he expects to eat when they grow older.' Joe never 
wasted any time at parties ; he never wore fine clothing ; he 
never drank nor smoked ; in short, J oe was so industrious 
that by the time he reached his majority he had a thousand 
dollars in the bank, and not a solitary virtue in his heart. 

For Joe’s money good Squire Tackey had an earnest 
longing, and soon had it to his own credit ; while the sign 
over the store-door read “Tackey & Gatter.” Then the 
Squire wanted Joe’s soul, too, and so earnest was he that 
Joe soon found it necessary to remonstrate with his partner. 

“’Twont do. Squire,” said he; “religion’s all very well 
in its place, but when a man loses the sale of a dozen eggs, 
profit seven cents, because his partner is talking religion 
with him so hard that a customer gets tired of waiting and 
goes somewhere else, then religion’s out of place.” 


AN OLD INSURANCE AGENT. 


329 


** The human soul’s of more cons’kence than many eggs, 
Joseph,” argued the Squire. 

“That’s just it,” replied Joe; “money don’t hit the yalue 
of the soul any way, and there’s no use trying to mix ’em. 
And while we’re talking, don’t you think we might be mix- 
ing some of the settlings of the molasses barrel with the 
brown sugar ? — twill make it weigh better.” 

The Squire sighed, but he could not help admitting that 
Joe was as good a partner as a man could want. 

In one of Joe’s leisure moments it struck him that if he 
were to die, nobody would lose a cent by the operation. 
The idea was too exasperating, and' soon the local agents of 
noted insurance companies ceased to enjoy that tranquility 
which is characteristic of business men in the country. 
Within a fortnight two of the agents were arraigned before 
their respective churches for profane brawling, while Joe 
had squeezed certain agents into dividing commissions to 
the lowest unit of divisibility, and had several policies in 
the safe at the store. 

The Squire, his partner, was agent for the Pantagonian 
Mutual, and endured his full share of the general agony 
Joe had caused. But when he had handed Joe a policy and 
receipt, and taken the money, and counted it twice, and 
seen to it carefully that all the bills were good, the good 
Squire took his revenge. 

“Joseph,” said he, “you ain’t through with insurance 
’ yet — ^you need to insure your soul against risk in the next 
world, and there’s only one Agent that does it.” 

The junior partner stretched himself on the counter and . 
groaned. He knew the Squire was right — he had heard 
that same story from every minister he had ever heard. 
Joe was so agitated that he charged at twelve and a half 
cents some calico he had sold at fifteen. 

Only one Agent ! But the shrewd Joseph rejoiced to 
think that those who represented the Great Agent differed 
greatly in the conditions pf the insurance, and that some 
made more favorable terms than others, and that if he 


330 THE mSUR^iNOE COMPANY SELECTED. 

could get the ministers thoroughly interested in him, he 
would have a good opportunity for comparing rates. Thei 
good men all wanted Joe, for he was a rising young man, 
and could, if the Spirit moved him, make handsome sub- 
scriptions to good purposes. So, in their zeal, they soonj 
regarded each other with jealous eyes, and reduced theii; 
respective creeds to gossamer thinness. They agreed about 
grace being free, and Joe accepted that much promptly, as 
he did anything which could be.had without price. But Joe 
was a practical man, and though he found fault with none 
of the doctrines talked at him, he yet hesitated to attach 
himself to any particular congregation. He finally ascer- 
tained that the Eeverend Barzillai Driftwood’s church had 
no debt, and that its contributions to missions and othei 
religious purposes were very small, so Joe allowed himseli 
to be gathered into the fine assortment of crooked sticks 
which the Eeverend Barzillai Driftwood was reserving unto ' 
the day of burning. 

Great was the rejoicing of the congregation at Joe’s 
saving act, and sincere was the sorrow of the other churches, ^ 
who knew their own creeds were less shaky. But in the 
saloon and on the street Joe’s religious act was discussed 
exclusively on its merits, and the results were such as only 
special spiritual labor would remove. For no special change 
was noticeable in Joe ; on Sunday he abjured the world, 
but on Monday he made things uncomfortable for the 
Widow Macnilty, -whose husband had died in the debt ol 
Tackey & Gatter. A customer bought some gingham, on 
Joe’s assurance that the colors were fast, but the first wash- 
day failed to confirm Joe’s statement. The proprietor oi 
the stage line between Bungfield and Cleopas Yalley traded 
horses with Joe, and was afterward heard mentioning hisi 
new property in language far more scriptural than proper. | 

Still, Joe was a church-member, and that was a patent 
of respectability. And as he gained years, and building 
lots, and horses, and commenced discounting notes, his re- 
spectability grew and waxed great in the minds of the 


A NEW BUSINESS INVESTMENT. 


331 


® practical people of Bungfield. Even good women, real 
® mothers in Israel, could not help thinking, as they sorrowed 
^ over the sand in the bottoms of their coffee-cups, and grew . 
* wrathful at “ runney ” flour bought for “A 1 Superfine ” of 
' Tackey & Gatter, that J oe would make a valuable husband. 
So thought some of the ladies of Bungfield, and as young 
ladies who can endure the idea of such a man for perpetual 
partner can also signify their opinions, Joe began to com- 
j prehend that he was in active demand. He regarded the 
matter as he would a sudden demand for any commodity of 
trade, and by skillfully manipulating the market he was 
soon enabled to choose from a full supply. 

I Thenceforward Joe was as happy as a man of his nature 
could be. All his investments were paying well : the store 
was prosperous, he was successful in all his trading enter- 
prises, he had purchased, at fearful shaves, scores of per- 
fectly good notes, he realized on loans interest which would 
cause a usury law to shrivel and crack, his insurance policies 
brought him fair dividends, and his wife kept house with 
economy and thrift. But the church — the church seemed 
an unmitigated drag. Joe attended all the church meetings 
— determined to get the worth of the money he was com- 
pelled to contribute to the current expenses — he had himself 
appointed treasurer, so he could get the use of the church 
money; but the interest, even at the rates Joe generally 
obtained, did not balance the amount of his contribution. 

Joe worried over the matter until he became very 
peevish, yet he came no nearer a business-like adjustment 
of receipts and expenditures. One day when his venerable 
partner presented him a certificate of dividend from the 
Pantagonian Mutual, Joe remarked : 

“Never got any dividends on that other insurance you 
put me up to taking, partner — that ’gainst fire risks in the 
next world, you know. ’Twill be tough if there’s any mis- 
take — church does take a sight of money.” 

“Joseph,” said the Squire, in a sorrowful tone, “I’ve 
always been afeard they didn’t look enough into your evi- 


332 


FAITH VERSUS WORKS. 


dences when they took yon into that church. How can 
man expect to escape on the day of wrath if he’s all th 
time grumbling at the cost of his salvation? Mistake? I 
you don’t know in your heart the truth of what you profess 
there’s mighty little hope for you, church or no church.” 

“ Know in my heart !” cried Joe. “That’s a pretty kim 
of security. Is that what I’ve been paying church duei 
for ? Better have known it in my heart in the first place 
and saved the money. What’« the use of believing al 
these knotty points, if they don’t make a sure thing for i 
man?” 

“ If your belief don’t make you any better or happier 
Joseph,” rejoined the Squire, “ you’d better look again anc 
see if you’ve got a good hold of it ; those that’s got a cleai 
title don’t find their investment as slow in making returns 
while those that find fault are generally the ones that’j 
made a mistake.” 

Poor Joe ! He thought he had settled this whole mat- 
ter ; but now, if his partner was right, he was worse ofi 
than if he had n’t begun. He believed in justification bj! 
faith ; now, was n’t his faith strong — first class, he might 
say ? To be sure of being safe, had n’t he believed every- 
thing that all the ministers had insisted upon as essential ? 
And what was faith, if it was n’t believing ? He would ask 
his partner; the old man had got him into this scrape — nowlj 
he must see him through. ' 

“Squire,” said he, “isn’t faith the same thing as 
believing ?” ' 

“ "Well, said the Squire, adjusting his glasses, and taking! 
from the desk the little Testament upon which he adminis-* 
tered oaths, “ that depends on how you believe. Here’s a] 
verse on the subject : ‘ Thou believest in God ; thou doest 
well ; the devils also believe, and tremble.’ ” ; 

Ugh ! Joe shivered. He was n’t an aristocrat, but would 
any one fancy such companionship as the Squire referred to ? 

“ Here, said the Squire, turning the leaves, “ is another 
passage bearin’ on the subject. ‘O, generation -of vipers, 


UNCOMFORTABLE TEXTS. 


333 


'ho hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come ? 
Jring forth, therefore, fruits meet for repentance.’ ” 

Yipers ! Joe uncomfortably wondered who else the 
quire was going to introduce into the brotherhood of the 
dth. 

“ Now, see what it says in another place,” continued the 
quire, “ Not every one that saith unto Me Lord, Lord, shall 
ater into the kingdom of heaven, but he that doeth the 
ill of my Father which is in heaven.” 

“Yes,” said Joe, grateful for hearing of no more horrible 
alievers, “ but what is his will but believing on him ? 
•on’t the Bible say that they that believe shall be 
jived?” 

“Joseph,” said the Squire, “when you believed in my 
^ ;ore, you put in your time and money there. When you 
'slieved in hoss-tradin’ you devoted yourself to practicing 
. When you believed life insurance was a good thing, you 
)ok out policies and paid for them, though you have com- 
jllained of the Patagonian dividends. Now, if you do 
fjelieve in God, what have you done to prove it ?” 

I “ I’ve paid over a hundred dollars a year church dues,” 
tid Joe, wrathfully, “not counting subscriptions to a bell 
id a new organ.” 

; “That wasn’t for God, Joseph,” said the Squire; “ ’twas 
1 for you. God never’ll thank you for running an asylum 
»r paupers fit to work. You’ll find in the twenty-fifth 
aapter of Matthew a description of those that’s going into 
le kingdom of heaven — they’re the people that give food 
ad clothing to the needy, and that visit the sick and pris- 
’ aers, while those that don’t do these things donH go in, to 
at it mildly. He don’t say a word about belief there, 
Joseph; for He knows that giving away property don’t 
ippen till a man’s belief is pretty strong.” 
j Joe felt troubled. Could it really be that his eternal in- 
j irance was going to cost more money? Joe thought 
iviously of Colonel Bung, President of the Bung-field Bail- 
^ )ad Co. — the Colonel didn’t believe in anything ; so he 


334 


A DIVIDEND AT LAST. 


fiaved all his money, and Joe wished he had some of tL 
Colonel’s courage. 

Joe’s meditations were interrupted by the entrance ( 
Sam Ottrey, a poor fellow who owed Joe some money. Jc 
had lent Sam a hundred dollars, discounted ten per cen 
for ninety days, and secured by a chattel mortgage on Sam 
horse and wagon. But Sam had been sick during most < 
the ninety days, and when he went to Joe to beg a few daj 
of grace, that exemplary business man insisted upon imm< 
diate payment. , 

It was easy to see by Sam’s hopeless eye and straine| 
features that he had not come to pay — he was staring rui; 
in the face, and felt as uncomfortable as if the amount wei, 
millions instead of a horse and wagon, his only means < 
support. As for Joe, he had got that hundred dollars ar 
horse and wagon mixed up in the oddest way with what 1 
and his partner had been talking about. It was utterly ui 
business-like — hn knew it — he tried to make businei 
business, and religion religion, but, try as he might, 1 
could not succeed. Joe thought briskly; he determine, 
to try an experiment. 

“Sam,” said he, “ got the money ?” , 

“No,” Sam replied ; “luck’s agin me — I’ve got to star 
it, I suppose.” , 

“ Sam,” said Joe, “ I’ll give you all the time you nee 
at legal interest.” 

Sam was not such a young man as sentimental peop 
would select to try good deeds upon. But he was huma 
and loved his wife and children, and the sudden relief ]| 
felt caused him to look at Joe in a manner which made Jj 
find a couple of entire strangers in his own eyes. I 
hurried into the little office, and when his partner lookd 
up inquiringly, Joe replied : i 

“I’ve got a dividend. Squire — one of those we wel 
talking about.” j 

“How’s that?” asked the old man, while Joe comment 
writing rapidly. 


OTHER DIVIDENDS SELDOM DECLARED,. 335 

“I’ll show you,” said Joe, handing the Squire the paper 
on which he has just put in writing his promise to Sam. 

“ Joseph,” said the Squire, after reading the paper 
several times, to assure himself that his eyes did not de- 
ceive him, “ it beats the widow’s mites ; she gave the Lord 
all she had, but you’ve given Him more than you ever had 
in all your life until to-day.” 

Joe handed Sam the paper, and it was to the teamster 
the strongest evidence of Christianity he had ever seen in 
Bungfield. He had known of some hard cases turning from 
the saloon and joining the church, but none of these things 
were so wonderful as this action of Joe Gatter’s. Sam told 
the story, in strict confidence, to each of his friends, and 
the good seed was thus sown in soil that it had never 
reached before. 

It would be pleasant to relate that Joe forthwith ceased 
shaving notes and selling antiquated grease for butter, and 
that he devoted the rest of his days and money to good 
deeds, but it wouldn’t be true. Those of our readers who 
have always consistently acted according to their own light 
and knowledge are, of course, entitled to throw stones at 
Joe Gatter; but most of us know to our sorrow why he 
didn’t always act according to the good promptings he re- 
' ceived. Our only remaining duty is to say that when, there- 
i after, Joe’s dividends came seldom, he knew who to blame. 


THE TEMPEEANCE MEETING AT BACKLEY. 


L oud and long rang the single cliurch-bell at Backley, 
but its industry was entirely unnecessary, for the sin- 
gle church at Backley was already full from the altar to the 
doors, and the window-sills and altar-steps were crowded 
with children. The Backley ites had been before to the regu- 
lar yearly temperance meetings, and knew too well the rel- 
ative merits of sitting and standing to wait until called hy 
the bell. Of course no one could afford to be absent, foi 
entertainments were entirely infrequent at Backley ; the 
populace was too small to support a course of lectures, anc 
too moral to give any encouragement to circuses and min- 
strel troupes, but a temperance meeting was both moral 
and <}heap, and the children might all be taken without ex- 
tra cost. 

For months all the young men and maidens at Backley 
had been practising the choruses of the songs which th( 
Temperance Glee Club at a neighboring town was to sin^ 
at the meeting. For weeks had large posters, printed ii 
the reddest of ink, announced to the surrounding country 
that the parent society would send to Backley, for this es 
pecial occasion, one of its most brilliant orators, and al 
though the pastor made the statement (in the smallest pos 
sible type) that at the close of the entertainment a collec- 
tion would be taken to defray expenses of the lecturer, tb 
sorrowing ones took comfort in the fact that certain frac 
tional currency represented but a small amount of money. 
The bell ceased ringing, and the crowd at the doo 


AN ORTHODOX SPEECH. 


337 


attempted to squeeze into the aisles ; the Backley Cornet 
Quartette played a stirring air; Squire Breet called the 
meeting to order, and was himself elected permanent Chair- 
man ; the Beverend Mr. Genial prayed earnestly that in- 
temperance might cease to reign ; the Glee Club sang seve- 
ral songs, with rousing choruses ; a pretended drunkard 
and a cold water advocate (both pupils of the Backley High 
School), delivered a dialogue in which the pretended drunk- 
ard was handled severely ; a tableau of ‘‘ The Drunkard’s 
Home ” was given ; and then the parent society’s brilliant 
orator took the platform. 

The orator was certainly very well informed, logical and 
convincing, besides being quite witty. He proved to the 
satisfaction of all present that alcohol was not nutritious ; 
that it awakened a general and unhealthy physical excite- 
ment ; and that it hardened the tissues of the brain. He 
proved by reports of analyses, that adulteration, and with 
harmful materials, was largely practiced. H§ quoted from 
reports of police, prison and almshouse authorities, to 
prove his statement that alcohol made most of our criminals. 
He unrolled a formidable array of statistics, and showed 
how many loaves of bread could be bought with the money 
expended in the United States for intoxicating liquors ; how 
many comfortable houses the same money would build; 
how many schools it would support ; and how soon it would 
pay the National Debt. 

Then he drew a moving picture of the sorrow of the 
drunkard’s family and the awfulness of the drunkard’s 
death, and sat down amid a perfect thunder of applause. 

The faithful beamed upon each other with glowing and 
expressive countenances ; the Cornet Quartette played 
“Don’t you go. Tommy”; the smallest young lady sang 
“ Father, dear father, come Home with me Now ”; and then 
Squire Breet, the Chairman, announced that the meeting 
was open for remarks. 

A derisive laugh from some of the half-grown boys, and 
a titter from some of the misses, attracted the attention of 


838 


JOE DIGG SPEAKS. 


the audience, and looking round they saw Joe Digg stand- 
ing up in a pew near the door. 

“Put him out!” “It’s a shame!” “ Disgraceful !” were ■ 
some of the cries which were heard in the room. 

“ Mr. Digg is a citizen of Backley,” said the Chairman, 
rapping vigorously to call the audience to order, “ and 
though not a member of the Association, he is entitled to a 
hearing.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman,” said Joe Digg, when quiet 
was restored ; “ your words are the first respectful ones I’ve 
ever heard in Backley, an’ I do assure you I appreciate ’em. 
But I want the audience to understand I ain’t drunk — I 
haven’t had a cent for two days, an’ nobody’s treated me.” 

By this time the audience was very quiet, but in a deli- 
cious fever of excitement. A drunkard speakJng right out 
in a temperance meeting ! — they had never heard of such a 
thing in their lives. Yerily, Backley was going to add one 
to the roll of modest villages made famous by unusual oc- 
currences. 

“I ’spose, Mr. Chairman,” continued Joe Digg, “that 
the pint of temp’rance meetin’s is to stop drunkenness, an’ 
as I’m about the only fully developed drunkard in town, 
I’m most likely to know what this meetin’s ’mounted to.” 

Squire Breet inclined his head slightly, as if to admit 
the correctness of Joe Digg’s position. 

“ I believe ev’ry word the gentleman has said,” continu- 
ed the drunkard, “ and ” — here he paused long enough to i 
let an excitable member exclaim “ Bless the Lord !” and 1 
burst into tears — “ and he could have put it all a good deal 
stronger without stretchin’ the truth. An’ the sorrer of a 
drunkard’s home can be talked about ’till the Dictionary 
runs dry, an’ then ye don’t know nothin’ ’bout it. But 
hain’t none of ye ever laughed ’bout lockin’ the stable door 
after the hoss is stolen ? That’s just what this temp’rance 
meetin’ an’ all tlie others comes to.” 

A general and rather indignant murmur of dissent ran 
through the audience. 


WHY SOME FOLKS DKINK. 


339 


“Te don’t believe it,” continued Joe Digg, “but I’vo 
been a drunkard, an’ I’m one yet, an’ ye all got sense enough 
to understan’ that I ort to know best about it.” 

“Will the gentleman have the kindness to explain?” 
asked the lecturer. 

“ I’m a cornin’ to it, sir, ef my head ’ll see me through,” 
replied the drunkard. “ You folks all b’leeve that its lovin’ 
liquor that makes men drink it ; now, ’taint no sech thing. 
I never had a chance to taste fancy drinks, but I know that 
every kind of liquor I ever got hold of was more like medi- 
cine than anything nice.” 

“ Then what do they drink for ?” demanded the excitable 
member. 

“I’ll tell you,” said Joe, “ if you’ll have a little patience. 
I have to do it in my, own way, for I ain’t used to public 
speakin’. You all know who I am. My father was a church- 
member, an’ so was mother. Father done day’s work, fur a 
dollar’n a quarter a day. How much firewood an’ clothes 
an’ food d’ye suppose that money could pay for ? We had 
to eat what come cheapest, an’ when some of the women 
here wuz a sittin’ comfortable o’ nights, a knittin’ an’ sewin’ 
an’ readin’, mother wuz hangin’ aroun’ the butchershop, 
tryin’ to beat the butcher down on the scraps that wasn’t 
good enough for you folks. Soon as we young ’uns was big 
enough to do anything we wuz put to work. I’ve worked 
for men in this room twelve an’ fourteen hours a day. I 
don’t blame ’em — they didn’t mean nothin’ out of the way — 
they worked just as long ’emselves, an’ so did their boys. 
But they allers had somethin’ inside to keep ’em up, an’ I 
didn’t. Does anybody wonder that when I harvested with 
some men that kep’ liquor in the field, an’ found how it 
helped me along, that I took it, an’ thought ’twas a reg’lar 
God’s-blessin’ ? An’ when I foun’ ’twas a-hurtin’ me, how 
was I to go to work an’ giv’ it up, when it stood me in- 
stead of the eatables I didn’t have, an’ never had, neither?” 

“ You should hev prayed,” cried old Deacon Towser, 
springing to his feet; “prayed long an’ earnest.” 


340 


ATTEACTIYE BAE-KOOMS. 


'^Deacon,” said Joe Digg, “I’ve lieerd of your dyspepsy 
for nigh on to twenty year ; did prayin’ ever comfort your 
stomach?” 

The whole audience indulged in a profane laugh, and the 
good deacon was suddenly hauled down by his wife. The 
drunkard continued : 

“ There’s lots of jest sech folks, here in Backley, an’ ev’ry 
where’s else — ^people that don’t get half fed, an’ do get 
worked half to death. Nobody means to ’buse ’em, but they 
do hev a hard time of it, an’ whisky’s the best friend they’ve 
got.” 

“ I work my men from sunrise to sunset in summer, my- 
self,” said Deacon Towser, jumping up again, “ an’ I’m the 
first man in the field, an’ the last man to quit. But I don’t 
drink no liquor, an’ my boys don’t, neither.” 

“But ye don’t start in the mornin’ with hungry little 
faces a hauntin’ ye — jq don’t take the dry crusts to the 
field for yer own dinner, an’ leave the meat an’ butter at 
home for the wife an’ young ’uns. An’ ye go home without 
bein’ afeard to see a half-fed wife draggin’ herself aroun’ 
among a lot of puny young ’uns that don’t know what’s the 
matter with ’em. Jesus Christ hissef broke down when it 
come to the cross, deac’n, an’ poor human bein’s some- 
times reaches a pint where they can’t stan’ no more, an’ 
when its wife an’ children that brings it on, it gits a man 
awful.” 

“The gentleman is right, I have no doubt,” said the 
Chairman, “ so far as a limited class is concerned, but of 
course no such line of argument applies to the majority of 
cases. There are plenty of well-fed, healthy, and lazy young 
men hanging about the tavern in this very village.” 

“ I know it,” said Joe Digg, “ an’ I want to talk about 
them too. I don’t wan’t to take up all the time of this 
meetin’, but you’ll all ’low I know more ’bout that tavern 
than any body else does. Ther’ is lots of young men a 
hanging aroun’ it, an’ why — ’cos it’s made pleasant for ’em, 
an’ it’s the only place in town that is. I’ve been a faithful 


WHERE ARE THEY TO FLEE? 


341 


attendant at that tavern for nigh onto twenty year, an’ I 
never knowed a hanger-on there that had a comfortable 
home of his own. Some of them that don’t hev to go to bed 
hungry hev scoldin’ or squabblin’ parents, an’ they can’t go 
a visitin’ an’ hear fine music, an’ see nice things of every 
sort to take their minds off, as some young men in this 
meetin’ house can. But the tavern is alius comfortable, an’ 
ther’s generally somebody to sing a song and tell a joke, an’ 
they commence goin’ ther’ more fur a pleasant time than 
for a drink, at fust. Ther’s lots of likely boys goin’ there 
that I wish to God ’d stay away, an’ I’ve often felt like 
tellin’ ’em so, but what’s the use ? Where are they to go to ?” 

“ They ort to flee from even the appearance of evil,” said 
Deacon Towser. 

“ But where be they to flee to, Deac’n ?” persisted Joe 
Digg; “would you like ’em to come a visitin’ to your 
house ?” 

“ They can come to the church meetings,” replied the 
Deacon ; “ there’s two in the week, besides Sundays, an’ 
some of ’em’s precious seasons — all of ’em’s an improvement 
on the wicked tavern.” 

“ ’Ligion don’t taste no better’n whiskey, tell you get 
used to it,” said the drunkard, horrifying all the orthodox 
people at Backley, “ an’ taint made half so invitin’. ’Taint 
long ago I heerd ye tellin’ another deacon that the church- 
members ort to be ’shamed of ’emselves, ’cos sca’cely any 
of ’em come to the week-evenin’ meetin’ s, so ye can’t blame 
the boys at the tavern.” 

“ Does the gentleman mean to convey the idea that all 
drunkards become so from justifying causes ?” asked the 
lecturer. 

“ No, sir,” replied Joe Digg, “ but I do mean to say that 
after you leave out them that takes liquor to help ’em do a 
full day’s work, an’ them that commence drinkin’ ’cos they’re 
at the tavern, an’ ain’t got no where’s else to go, you’ve 
made a mighty big hole in the crowd of drinkin’ -men — big- 
ger’n temperance meetins’ ever begin to make yii” 


34:2 


THE EEMEDT. 


“But how are they to be ‘left out’?” ashed the lec- 
turer. 

“By temp’rance folks doin’ somethin’ beside talkin’,” 
replied the drunkard. “ For twenty year I’ve been lectured 
and scolded, an’ some good men’s come to me with tears in 
their eyes, and put their arms ’roun’ my neck, an’ begged 
me to stop drinkin’. An’ I’ve wanted to, an’ tried to, but 
when all the encouragement a man gits is in words, an’ no 
matter how he commenced drinkin’, now ev’ry bone an’ mus- 
cle in him is a beggin’ fur drink ez soon as he leaves off, an’ 
his mind’s dull, an’ he ain’t fit fur much, an’ needs takin’ 
care of as p’tic’ler ez a mighty sick man, talk’s jist as good 
ez wasted. Ther’s been times when ef I’d been ahead on 
flour an’ meat an’ sich, I could a’ stopped drinkin’, but when 
a man’s hungry, an’ ragged, an’ weak, and half-crazy, 
knowin’ how his family’s fixed an he can’t do nothin’ fur 
’em, an’ then don’t get nothin’ but words to reform on, he’ll 
go back to the tavern ev’ry time, an’ he’ll drink till he’s 
comfortable an’ till he forgits. I want the people here, one 
an’ all, to understand that though I’m past helpin’ now, ther’s 
been fifty times in the last twenty year when I might hed 
been stopped short, ef any body’d been sensible enough and 
good-hearted enough to give me a lift.” 

J oe Bigg sat down, and there was a long pause. The 
Chairman whispered to the leader of the Glee Club, and 
the club sang a song, but somehow it failed to awaken the 
usual enthusiasm. After the singing had ended, the Chair- 
man himself took the floor and moved the appointment of a 
permanent committee to look after the intemperate, and to 
collect funds when the use of money seemed necessary, and 
the village doctor created a sensation by moving that Mr. 
Joe Bigg should be a member of the committee. Beacon 
Towser, who was the richest man in the village, and who 
dreaded subscription papers, started an insidious opposi- 
tion by eloquently vaunting the value of earnest prayer and 
of determined will, in such cases, but the new member 
of the committee (though manifestly out of order) outman- 


mUITS or THE SPEECH. 


843 


ceiiYTed the Deacon by accepting both amendments, and re- 
marking that in a hard fight folks would take all the help 
they could get. 

Somehow, as soon as the new committee — determining 
to open a place of entertainment in opposition to the tavern, 
and furnish it pleasa,ntly, and make it an attractive gather- 
ing-place for young men — asked for contributions to enable 
them to do it, the temperance excitement at Backley abated 
marvelously. But Squire Breet, and the doctor, and several 
other enterprising men, took the entire burden on their own 
shoulders — or pockets — and Joe Digg was as useful as a 
reformed thief to a police department. For the doctor, 
whose professional education had left him a large portion 
of his natural common-sense in working order, took a prac- 
tical interest in the- old drunkard’s case, and others of the 
committee looked to the necessities of his family, and it 
came to pass that Joe was one of the earliest of the reform- 
ers. Men still go to the tavern at Backley, but as, even 
when the twelve spake with ins2)ired tongues, some people 
remained impenitent, the temperance men at Backley feel 
that they have great cause for encouragement, and that 
they have, at least, accomplished more within a few months 
than did all the temperance meetings ever held in their 
village. 


JUDE. 


G OPHEE hill had determined that it could not endure 
Jude any longer. 

The inhabitants of Gopher Hill possessed an unusual 
amount of kindness and long-suffering, as was proved by 
the fact that Chinamen were allowed to work all abandoned 
claims at the Hill. Had further proof been necessary, 
it would have been afforded by the existence of a church 
directly beside the saloon, although the frequenters of the 
sacred edifice had often, during week-evening meetings, an- 
noyed convivial souls in the saloon by requesting them to 
be less noisy. 

But Jude was too much for Gopher HilL No one mo- 
lested him when he first appeared, but each citizen entered 
a mental protest within his own individual consciousness ; 
for Jude had a bad reputation in most of the settlements 
along Spanish Creek. 

It was not that he had killed his man, and stolen several 
horses and mules, and got himself into a state of most dis- 
orderly inebriation, for, in the opinion of many Gopher 
Hillites, these actions might have been the visible results of 
certain virtuous conditions of mind. 

But Jude had, after killing a man, spent the victim’s 
money ; he had stolen from men who had befriended him ; 
he had jumped claims ; he had denied his score at the store- 
keeper’s ; he had lied on all possible occasions ; and had 
gambled away money which had been confided to him in 
trust. 


JUDE, FOR SHORT. 


345 


One mining camp after another had become too hot for 
him ; but he never adopted a new set of principles when he 
staked a new claim, so his stay in new localities was never 
of sufficient length to establish the fact of legal residence. 
His name seemed to be a respectable cognomen of Scrip- 
tural extraction, but it was really a contraction of a name 
which, while equally Scriptural and far more famous, was 
decidedly unpopular — the name of Judas Iscariot. 

The whole name had been originally bestowed upon 
Jude, in recognition of his success in swindling a mining 
partner ; but, with an acuteness of perception worthy of em- 
ulation, the miners determined that the length of the 
appellation detracted from its force, so they shortened 
it to Jude. 

As a few of the more enterprising citizens of Gopher 
Hill were one morning discussing the desirableness of get- 
ting rid of Jude, and wondering how best to effect such a 
result, they received important foreign aid. 

A man rode up to the saloon, dismounted, and tacked on 
the wall a poster offering one thousand dollars reward for 
the apprehension of a certain person who had committed 
an atrocious murder a month before at Duck Run. 

The names and aliases of the guilty person were unfa- 
miliar to those who gathered about the poster, but the des- 
cription of the murderer’s appearance was so suggestive, 
that Squire Bogern, one of the bystanders, found Jude, and 
requested him to read the poster. 

“ Well, ’twasn’t me done it,” sulkily growled the name- 
sake of the apostolic treasurer. 

“ Ther’ hain’t nobody in Gopher that ’ud take a feller up 
fur a reward,” replied the squire, studiously oblivious of 
Jude’s denial; “ but it’s a nice mornin’ fur a walk. Ye can’t 
miss the trail an’ git lost, ye know. An’, seein’ yer hevn’t 
staked any claim, an’ so hain’t got any to dispose of, mebbe 
yer could git, inside of five minutes.” 

Jude was accustomed to “ notices to quit,” and was able 
to extract their import from any verbiage whatever, so ho 


346 


THE POSTEE AnK\I>. 


drank by and to himself, and immediately sauntered out of 
town, with an air of bravado in his carriage, and a very 
lonesome look in his face. 

Down tlie trail he tramped, past claims whose occupants 
knew him well enough, but who, just as he passed, found 
some excuse for looking the other way. 

He passed through one camp after another, and discov- 
ered (for he stopped at each saloon) that the man on horse- 
back had preceded him, and that there seemed a wonderful 
unanimity of opinion as to the identity of the man who was 
wanted. 

Finally, after passing through several of the small camps, 
which were dotted along the trail, a mile or two apart, Jude 
flung himself on the ground under a clump of azaleas, 
with the air of a man whose temper had been somewhat 
ruffled. 

“ I wonder,” he remarked, after a discursive, fitful, but 
very spicy preface of ten minutes’ duration, “why they 
couldn’t find somethin’ I Jied done, instead of tuckin’ some 
other feller’s job on me ? I liev had difficulties, but this here 
one’s just one more than I knows on. Like ’nuff some 
galoot’ll be mean ’nufi to try to git that thousand. I’d try ' 
it myself, ef I wuz only somebody else. Wonder why I 
can’t be decent, like other fellers. ’Twon’t pay to waste 
time thinkin’ ’bout that, though, fur I’ll hev to make a livin’ 
somehow.” 

Jude indulged in a long sigh, perhaps a penitential one, 
and drew from his pocket a well-filled flask, which he had 
purchased at the last saloon he had passed. 

As he extracted it, there came also from his pocket a 
copy of the poster, which he had abstracted from a tree en 
route. 

“Thar ’tis again!” he exclaimed, angrily. “Can’t be 
satisfied showin’ itself ev’rywhar, but must come out of 
my pocket without bein’ axed. Let’s see, p’r’aps it don’t 
mean me, after all — ‘ One eye gone, broken nose, scar on 
right cheek, powder-marks on left, stumpy beard, sallow 


A woman’s CPtY. 


347 


complexion, hangdog look.’ Td give a thousand ef I had 
it to git the feller that writ that ; an’ yit it means me, an’ 
no dodgin’. Lord, Lord 1 what ’ud the old woman say ef 
she wuz to see me nowadays ?” 

He looked intently at the flask for a moment or two, as 
if expecting an answer therefrom, then he extracted the 
cork, and took a generons drink. But even the liquor fail- 
ed to help him to a more cheerful view of the situation, for 
he continued : 

“Nobody knows me — nobody sez, ‘Hello!’ — nobody 
axes me to name my bitters — nobody even cusses me. 
They let me stake a claim, but nobody offers to lend me a 
pick or a shovel, an’ nobody ever comes to the shanty to 
spend the evenin’, ’less it’s a greenhorn. Curse ’em all 1 
I’ll make some of ’em bleed fur it. I’ll git their dust, an’ 
go back East ; ther’s plenty of folks thar that’ll be glad to 
see me, ef I’ve got the dust. An’ mebbe ’twould comfort 
the old woman some, after all the trouble I’ve made her. 
Offer rewards fur me, do they? I’ll give ’em some reason to 

do it. I haint afeard of the hull State of Californy, an’ 

Good Lord 1 what’s that ?” 

The gentleman who was not afraid of the whole State of 
California sprang hastily to his feet, turned very pale, and 
felt for his revolver, for he heard rapid footsteps approach- 
ing by a little path in the bushes. 

But though the footsteps seemed to come nearer, and 
very rapidly, he slowly took his hand from his pistol, and 
changed his scared look for a puzzled one. 

“ Cryin’ ! Beckon I ain’t in danger from anybody that’s 
bellerin’ ; but it’s the fust time I’ve heerd that kind of a 
noise in these parts. Must be a woman. Sounds like what 
I used to hear to home when I got on a tear; His a 
woman 

As he concluded, there emerged from the path a woman, 
who was neither very young nor very pretty, but her face 
was full of pain, and her eyes full of tears, which signs of 
sorrow were augmented by a considerable scare, as she 


34:8 REMEDY FOR A WIFE’S TEARS. 

suddenly found herself face to face with the unhandsome 
Jude. 

“ Don’t be afeard of me, marm,” said Jude, as the woman 
retreated a step or two. “ I’m durned sorry for yer, what- 
ever’s the matter. I’ve got a wife to home, an’ it makes me 
so sorry to hear her cry, that I get blind drunk ez quick ez I 
ken.” 

This tender statement seemed to reassure the woman, 
for she looked inquiringly at Jude, and asked : 

“ Have ye seen a man and woman go ’long with a young 
one ? 

“ Nary,” replied Jude. “Young one lost ?” 

“ Yes !” exclaimed the woman, commencing to cry again ; 
“ an’ a husban’, too. I don’t care much for him, for he’s a 
brute, but Johnny — blessed little Johnny — oh, oh !” 

And the poor woman sobbed pitifully. 

Jude looked uneasy, and remembering his antidote for 
domestic tears, extracted the bottle again. He slowly put 
it back untasted, however, an^ exclaimed : 

“ What does he look like, marm ? — the husband I mean. 
I never wanted an excuse to put a hole through a feller ez 
bad ez I do this mornin’ !” 

“ Don’t — don’t hurt him, for God’s sake !” cried the 
woman. “ He ain’t a good husband — he’s run off with 
another woman, but — but he’s Johnny’s father. Yet, if you 
could get Johnny back — he’s the only comfort I ever had in 
the world, the dear little fellow — oh, dear me !” 

And again she sobbed as if her heart was broken. 

“ Tell us ’bout ’em. Whar hev they gone to ? what do 
they luk like ? Mebbe I ken git him fur yer,” said Jude, 
looking as if inclined to beat a retreat, or do anything to 
get away from the sound of the woman’s crying. 

“Get him — get Johnny?” cried the woman, falling on 
her knees, and seizing Jude’s hand. “I can’t give you any- 
thing for doin’ it, but I’ll pray for you, as long as I’ve got 
breath, that God may reward you !” 

“ I reckon,” said Jude, as he awkwardly disengaged his 


GONE TO GET JOHNNY 


349 


hand, ‘‘ that prayin’ is what’ll do me more good than any- 
thin’ else jest now. Big feller is yer husband ? An’ got any 
idee whar he is ?” 

“ He is a big man,” replied the woman, “ and he goes by 
the name of Marksey in these parts ; and you’ll find him at 
the Widow Beckel’s, across the creek. Kill her if you like 
— I hope somebody will. But Johnny — Johnny has got the 
loveliest brown eyes, and the sweetest mouth that was ever 
made, and ” 

“ Beckon I’ll judge fur myself,” interrupted Jude, start- 
ing off toward the creek, and followed by the woman. “ I 
know whar Wider Beckel’s is, an’ — an’ I’ve done enough 
stealin’, I guess, to be able to grab a little boy without git- 
tin’ ketched. Spanish Crick’s purty deep along here, an’ 
the current runs heavy, but ” 

The remainder of Jude’s sentence was left unspoken, for 
just then he stepped into the creek, and the chill of the 
snow-fed stream caused him to hold his breath. 

“ Bemember you aint to hurt him screamed the woman ; 
“ nor her, neither — God forgive me. But bring Johnny — 
bring Johnny, and God be with you.” 

The woman stood with clasped hands watching Jude 
until he reached the opposite bank, shook himself, and dis- 
appeared, and then she leaned against a tree and trembled 
and cried until she was startled by hearing some one say : 

“Beg pardon, madame, but have you seen any one 
pass ?” 

The woman raised her head, and saw a respectable, 
severe looking man, in clothing rather neater than was 
common along Spanish Creek. 

“ Only one,” she replied, “ and he’s the best man livin’. 
He’s gone to get Johnny — he won’t be gone long.” 

“Your husband, ma’am ?” 

Oh, no, sir ; I never saw him before.” 

“ One eye gone ; broken nose ; scar on right cheek ; pow- 
der-marks on left ” 

“Yes, sir, that’s the man,” said the wondering woman. 


350 


THE POSTER AGAIN TURNS UP. 


“ Perhaps you may not have seen this ?” said the man 
handing her one of the posters describing Jude. 

Then he uttered a shrill whistle. ^ 

The woman read the paper through, and cried : 

“ It’s somebody else — it must be — no murderer would be 
so kind to a poor, friendless woman. Oh, God, have I 
betrayed him ? Don't take him, sir — it must be somebody 
else. 1 wish I had money — I would pay you more than the 
reward, just to go away and let him alone.” 

“ Madame,” replied the man, beckoning to two men who 
were approaching, “ I could not accept it ; nor will I accept 
the reward. It is the price of blood. But I am a minister 
of the gospel, ma’am, and in this godless generation it 
is my duty to see that the outraged dignity of the law is 
vindicated. My associates, I regret to say, are actuated by 
different motives.” 

“ You just bet high on that !” exclaimed one of the two 
men who had approached, a low-browed, bestial ruffian. 
“ Half a thousan’ ’s more’n I could pan out in a fortnight, 
no matter how good luck I had. Parson he is a fool, but 
loe hain’t no right to grumble ’bout it, seein’ we git his share 
— hey. Parleyvoo ?” 

“You speak truly, Mike,” replied his companion, a 
rather handsome looking Frenchman, of middle age. “ And 
yet Jean Glorieaux likes not the labor. Were it not that 
he had lost his last ounce at monte, and had the fever for 
play still in his blood, not one sou would he earn in such 
ungentle a manner.” 

“ God’s worst curses on all of you !” cried the woman, 
with an energy which inspired her plain face and form with 
a terrible dignity and power, “ if you lay a hand on a man 
who is the only friend a poor woman has ever found in the 
world !” 

Glorieaux shuddered, and Mike receded a step or two : 
but the ex-minister maintained the most perfect composure, 
and exclaimed : 

“ Poor fools ! It is written, ‘ The curse, causeless, shall 


351 


“ TOUCH A WOMAN, WILL YER T 

not fall.’ And yet, madame, I assure yon that I most 
tenderly sympathize with yon in yonr misfortnnes, what- 
ever they may be.” 

“ Then let him alone !” cried the woman. “ My only 
child has been stolen away from me — dear little Johnny — 
and the man offered to go get him. And yon’ve made me 
betray him. Oh, God cnrse yon all !” 

‘‘ Madame,” replied the still impertnrbable parson, “ the 
crime of blood-gniltiness cannot be impnted to yon, for yon 
did not know what yon were doing.” 

The womaiT leaned against a tree, and waited nntil 
Glorieanx declared to the parson he wonld abandon the 
chase. 

“ It is nseless,” said he, striking a dramatic attitnde, 
and pointing to the woman, “ for her tears have quenched 
the fiery fever in the blood of Glorieanx.” 

“ Then I’ll git the hull thousand,” growled Mike, “ an’ 
I’ll need it, too, if I’ve got to stand this sort of thing much 
longer.” 

A confused sound of voices on the other side of the 
creek attracted the attention of the men, and caused the 
woman to raise her head. A moment later Jude appeared, 
with a child in his arms, and plunged into the water. 

“ Now we’ll have him !” cried the parson ; “ and you, 
madame, will have your child. Be ready to chase him, men, 
if he attempts to run when he gets ashore.” 

“ Go back ! go back!” screamed the woman. ■“ They are 
after you, these men. Try to ” 

The law-abiding parson placed his hand over the woman’s 
mouth, but found himself promptly flying backward through 
space, while Mike roared : 

“ Touch a woman, will yer ? No thousand dollars nor 
any other money, ’ll hire me to travel with such a scoun- 
drel. Catch him yerself, if yer want ter.” 

“ But if you do,” said Glorieaux, politely, as he drew his 
revolver, “ it will be necesary for Glorieaux to slay the 
Lord’s anointed.” 


352 


A DIVORCE, TO ORDER. 


Follered, by thunder !” said Mike. 

It was true. During the few seconds which had been 
consumed in conversation, Jude got well into the creek. 
He had not seemed to hear the woman’s warning ; but now 
a greater danger threatened him, for on the opposite bank 
of the creek there appeared a man, who commenced firing 
at Jude’s h6ad and the small portion of his shoulders that 
was visible. 

“ The monster. Oh, the wretch !” screamed the woman. 

“ He may hit Johnny, his only son ! Oh, God. have mercy 
on, me, and save my child !” 

A shot immediately behind her followed the woman’s 
prayer, and Glorieaux exclaimed, pointing to the opposite 
bank, where Marksey was staggering and falling : 

“ Glorieaux gathered from your words that a divorce 
would be acceptable, madame. Behold, you have it !” 

“Pity nobody didn’t think of it sooner,” observed Mike, 
shading his eyes as he stared intently at Jude, “ for there’s 
a red streak in the water right behind him.” 

The woman was already standing at the water’s edge, 
with hands clasped in an agony of terror and anxiety. The 
three men hastened to join her. 

“ Wish I could swim,” said Mike, “for he’s gettin’ weak, 
an’ needs help.” 

The parson sprang into the water, and, in spite of the 
chill and the swift current, he was soon by Jude’s side. 

“Take the young un,” gasped Jude, “ for I’m a goner.” 

“ Put your hand on my shoulder,” said the parson. “ I 
can get you both ashore.” 

‘’Tain’t no use,” said Jude, feebly ; “ corpses don’t count 
for much in Calif orny.” 

“ Bufc your immortal part,”' remonstrated the parson, 
trying to seize Jude by the hand which held little Johnny. 

“ God hev mercy on it !” whispered the dying man ; “it’s 
the fust time He ever had an excuse to do it.” 

Strong man and expert swimmer as the ex-minister was, 
he was compelled to relinquish his hold of the wounded 


DOWN THE STEEAM INTO ETEKNITY. 


353 


man ; and Jude, after one or two fitful struggles against his 
fate, drifted lifeless down the stream and into eternity, 
while the widowed mother regained her child. The man 
of God, the chivalrous Frenchman and the brutish Mike 
slowly returned to their camp ; but no one who met them 
could imagine, from their looks, that they were either of 
them anything better than fugitives from justice. 



A LOYE OF A COTTAGE. 


E HAD been married abont six months, and rrere 



vv boarding in the most comfortable style imaginable, 
wlien one evening, after dinner, Soplironia announced that 
ber heart was set upon beeping house. 3Iy heart sank 
within me ; but one of the lessons learned within my half 
year of married life is, that when Sophronia’s heart is set 
upon anything, the protests I see fit to make must be> utter- 
ed only within the secret recesses of my own consciousness. 
Then Sophronia remarked that she had made up her mind 
to keep house in the country, at which information my 
heart sank still lower. Not that I lack appreciation of nat- 
ural surroundings. 1 delight in localities where beautiful 
scenery exists, and where tired men can rest under trees 
without even being suspected of inebriety. But when 
any of my friends go house-hunting in the city, in the two or 
three square miles which contain all the desirable houses, 
their search generally occupies a month, .during which time 
the searchers grow thin, nervous, absent-minded, and un- 
companionable. What, then, would be my fate, after 
searching the several hundred square miles of territory 
which were within twenty miles of New York. But So- 
phronia had decided :hat it was to be — and I, 


“ Mine not to make reply ; 
Mine not to reason why ; 
Mine but to do or die.” 


By a merciful dispensation of Providence, however, I was 
saved fi*om the full measure of the fate I feared. Sophronia 


EN ROUTE TO VILLA VALLEY. 


355 


lias a liiglily imaginative nature ; in lier a fancy naturally 
ethereal has been made super-sensitive by long companion- 
ship of tender-voiced poets and romancers. So when I 
bought a railway guide and read over the names of stations 
within a reasonable distance of New York, Sophronia’s in- 
terest was excited in exact proportion to the attractiveness 
of the names themselves. Communipaw she pronounced 
execrable. Ewenville reminded her of a dreadful psalm 
tune. Paterson recalled the vulgar question, “ Who struck 
Billy Patterson?” Yonkers sounded Dutch. Morristown 
had a plebeian air. Rutherford Park — well, that sounded 
endurable ; it reminded her of the scene in Mrs. Some- 
body’s novel. Elizabeth was a dreadfully old-fashioned 
name. Villa Valley 

“ Stop !” exclaimed Sophronia, raising impressively the 
hand which bore her diamond engagement ring ; “ that is 
the place, Pierre. (I was christened Peter, but 3Iiss Soph- 
ronia never looked encouragingly upon ms until a friend 
nicknamed me Pierre.) I have a presentiment that our 
home will be at Villa Valley. How melodious — how abso- 
lutely enchanting it sounds. There is always a lake or a 
brook in a valley, too, don’t you know ?’’ 

I did not previously possess this exact knowledge of the 
peculiarity of valleys, but I have an accurate knowledge of 
what my duty is regarding any statement which Sophronia 
may make, so I promptly assented. By the rarest good 
fortune, I found in the morning paper an advertisement of 
a real estate agent who made a specialty of Villa Valley 
property. This agent, when visited by me early in the 
morning, abundantly confirmed Sophronia’s intuition re- 
garding brooks and lakes, by asserting that his charming 
town' possessed both, beside many other attractions, which 
irresistibly drove us to Villa Valley the next day, with a 
letter to the agent’s resident partner. 

It was a bright April morning when we started in the 
resident agent’s carriage, to visit a number of houses, the 
rent of which did not exceed four hundred dollars. 


356 


SOME COTTAGES. 


Drive first to the Old Stone Cottage,” said Sophronia ; 
**the very name is enchanting.” 

The house itself did not support Sophronia’s impression. 
It stood very near the road, was a quarter of a mile from 
any tree or bush, had three large and three small rooms, 
only one of which could be reached without passing through 
two others, for the house had no hall. The woodwork 
would have apparently greeted paint as a life-long stranger ; 
the doors, in size and clumsiness, reminded me of the gates 
of Gaza, as pictured in Sunday-school books. The agent 
said it had once been Washington’s headquarters, and I 
saw no reason to doubt his word ; though I timidly asked 
whether tradition asserted that the Father of his Country 
had not suffered a twinge of neuralgia while at Yilla Yalley. 

“ A Perfect Snuggery ” did not belie its name, but in 
size and ventilation forcibly suggested a chicken coop. 

“ Charming Swiss Cottage ” seemed to be a remodeled 
pig-stye, from which objectionable matter had not been 
removed. “ The House in the Woods ” was approachable 
only through water half-way up to the carriage body ; so we 
regretfully abandoned pursuit of it. 

“Silver Lake!” exclaimed Sophronia, reading from the 
memoranda she had penciled from the agent’s descriptive 
list. “ Thatj I am sure, will suit us. Don’t you remember, 
Pierre, my presentiment about a lake at Yilla Yalley?” 

I remembered, by a little stretch of my imagination. 
But, alas 1 for the uncertainty even of the presentiments of 
one of Nature’s most impressible children. The “ lake ” 
was a pond, perhaps twenty feet in diameter ; an antiquated 
boot, two or three abandoned milk cans, and a dead cat, re- 
posed upon its placid beach; and from a sheltered nook 
upon its southerly side, an early-aroused frog appeared, 
inquiringly, and uttered a cry of surprise — or, perhaps, of 
warning. 

“Take me away?” exclaimed Sophronia, “It was a 
dream— a fateful dream.” 

“New Cottage, with all modern improvements,” seemed 


AN OLD FAMILY HOMESTEAD. 357 

really to justify its title ; but Soplironia declined to look 
farther than its outside. 

“ I could never be happy in that house, Pierre,” said 
she, with emphasis ; “it looks to be entirely new.” 

, “ ’Tis, ma’am,” declared the agent ; “ the last coat of 
paint hasn’t been on a month.” 

“So I divined,” replied Sophronia. “And so it is sim- 
ply a lifeless mass of boards and plaster — no loving heart- 
throbs ever consecrated its walls — no tender romances have 
been woven under its eaves- - -no wistful yearnings — no ago- 
nies of parting have made its chambers instinct with life 
— no ” 

“ I declare !” exclaimed the agent ; “ excuse me for in- 
terrupting, ma’am, but I believe I’ve got the very house 
you’re looking for. How would you like a rambling, old 
family homestead, a hundred years old, with quaint, wide 
fireplaces, high mantels, overhanging eaves, a heavy screen 
of evergreens, vines clambering over everything, a great 
^ide hall ” 

“ Exquisite — charming — enchanting — paradisaical — di- 
vine !” murmured Sophronia. 

“ And the rent is only three hundred dollars,” continued 
the agent. 

This latter bit of information aroused my strongest 
.sentiment, and I begged the agent to show us the house 
at once. 

The approach was certainly delightful. We dashed into 
the gloom of a mass of spruces, pines, and arbor-vitses, and 
stopped suddenly in front of a little, low cottage, which con- 
sisted principally of additions, no one of which was after 
any particular architectural order. Sophronia gazed an 
instant ; her face assumed an ecstatic expression which I 
had not seen since the’ day of our engagement; she threw 
her arms about my neck, her head drooped upon my bosom, 
and she whispered : 

“ My ideal!” 

Then this matchless woman, intuitively realizing that 


358 A GOOD WAY FEOM THE STATION. 

tke moment for action had arrived, reassumed her natural 
dignity, and, with the air of Mrs. Scott Siddons in “ Eliza- 
beth,” exclaimed : 

“ Enough ! We take it !” 

“ Hadn’t you better examine the interior first, my lov^?” 
I suggested. 

“ Were the interior only that of a barn,” remarked 
my consistent mate, “ my decision would not be affected 
thereby. The eternal unities are never disunited, nor 
are ” 

“ I don’t believe I’ve got the key with me,” said the 
agent ; “ but perhaps we can get in through one of the win- 
dows.” 

The agent tied his horse and disappeared behind the 
house. Again Sophronia’s arm encircled me, and she mur- 
mured : 

“ Oh, Pierre, what bliss !” 

“ It’s a good way from the station, pet,” I ventured to 
remark. 

Sophronia’s enthusiasm gave place to scorn ; she with- 
drew her affectionate demonstration, and replied : 

“ Spoken like a real man ! The practical, always — the 
ideal, never! Once I dreamed of the companionship of a 
congenial spirit, but, alas! ‘ A good way from the station !* 
Were I a man, I would, to reside in such a bower, plod 
cheerily over miles of prosaic clods.” 

“And you’d get your shapely boots most shockingly 
muddy,” I thought, as the agent opened one of the front 
windows and invited us to enter. 

“French windows, too!” exclaimed Sophronia ; “oh 
Pierre ! And see that exquisite old mantel ; it looks as if it 
had been carved from ebony upon the banks of one of the 
Queen of the Adriatic’s noiseless by-ways. And these tiny 
rooms, how cozy — how like fairy land ! Again I declare, 
we will take it ! Let us return at once to the city — how I 
loathe the thought of treading its noisy thoroughfares 
again ! — and order our carpets and furniture.” 


COMMUNING WITH NATURE. 


359 


“Are you sure you won’t be lonesome here, darling?” 1 
asked. . “It is quite a distance from any neighbors.” 

“ A true woman is never lonesome when she can com- 
mune with Nature,” replied Sophronia. “ Besides,” she 
continued, in a less exalted strain, “I shall have Laura 
Stanley and Stella Sykes with me most of the time.” 

The agent drove us back to his office, spending not more 
than ten minutes on the road ; yet the time sufficed Soph- 
ronia to give me in detail her idea of the combination of 
carpets, shades, furniture, pictures, etc., which would be in 
harmony with our coming domicile. Suddenly nature re- 
asserted her claims, and Sophronia addressed the agent. 

“ Your partner told my husband that there were a lake 
and two brooks at Yilla Yalley. I should like to see 
them.” 

“ Certainly, ma’am,” replied the agent, promptly ; “ I’ll 
drive you past them as you go to the train.” 

Ten minutes later the lease was made out and signed. I 
was moved to interrupt the agent with occasional questions, 
such as, “Isn’t the house damp?” “Any mosquitoes?” 
“Is the water good and plentiful?” “Does the cellar 
extend under the whole house ?” But the coldly practical 
nature of these queries affected Sophronia’s spirits so un- 
pleasantly, that, out of pure affection, I forebore. Then the 
agent invited us into his carriage again, and said he would 
drive us to the lower depot. 

“Two stations ?” I inquired. 

“ Yes,” said he ; “ and one’s as near to your house as 
the other.” 

“ Your house,” whispered Sophronia, turning her soulful 
eyes full upon me, and inserting her delicate elbow with 
unnecessary force between my not heavily covered ribs — 
“ your house ! Oh, Pierre 1 does not the dignity of having 
a house appear to you like a beautiful vision?” 

“ I strove for an instant to frame a reply in keeping 
with Sophronia’s mental condition, when an unpleasant 
odor saluted my nose. That Sophronia was conscious of 


300 


HEALTHY SMELLS. 


the same disgusting atmospheric feature, I learned by the 
sound of a decided sniff. Looking about us, I saw a large 
paper mill beside a stream, whose contents looked sewer- 
like. 

‘‘Smell the paper-mash boiling?” asked the agent. 
“ Peculiar, isn’t it? Very healthy, though, they say.” 

On the opposite side of the road trickled a small gutter, 
full of a reddish-brown liquid, its source seeming to be a 
dye-house behind us. Just then we drove upon a bridge, 
which crossed a vile pool, upon the shore of which was a 
rolling-mill. 

“ Here’s the lake,” said the agent ; “ Dellwild Lake, they 
call it. And here’s the brooks emptying into it, one on each 
side of the road.” 

Sophronia gasped and looked solemn. Her thoughtful- 
ness lasted but a moment, however ; then she applied her 
daintily perfumed handkerchief to her nose and whispered : 

“ Dellwild ! Charbig dabe, Pierre, dod’t you thig so?” 

During the fortnight which followed, Sophronia and I 
visited house-furnishing stores, carpet dealers, furniture 
warehouses, picture stores, and bric-a-brac shops. The 
agent was very kind ; he sent a boy to the house with the 
keys every time the express wished to deliver any of our 
goods. Finally, the carpet dealer having reported the car- 
pets laid, Sophronia, I, and our newly engaged servant, 
started by rail to Villa Valley, three double-truck loads of 
furniture preceding us by way of the turnpike. I had 
thoughtfully ordered quite a quantity of provisions put into 
the house, in advance of our arrival. Hiring a carriage at 
the station, and obtaining the keys of the agent, we drove 
to our residence. Sophronia, to use her own expression, 
felt as she imagined Juno did, when first installed as mis- 
tress of the rosy summit of the divine mount; while I,, 
though scarcely in a mood to compare myself with Jove, was 
conscious of a new and delightful sense of manliness. The 
shades and curtains were in the windows, the sun shone 
warmly upon them, and a bright welcome seemed to extend 


CONFUSION WORSE CONFOUNDED. 


361 


itself from tlie whole face of the cottage. I unlocked the 
door and tenderly kissed my darling under the lintel ; then 
we stepped into the parlor. Sophronia immediately ex- 
claimed : 

‘‘ Gracious !” 

The word that escaped my lips, I shrink from placing 
upon the printed page. A barrel of flour, one of sugar, 
another of corned beef, and a half-barrel of molasses, a box 
of candles, a can of kerosene oil, some cases of canned fruits, 
a box of laundry soap, three wash-tubs, and a firkin of but- 
ter — all these, and many other packages, covered the parlor 
floor, and sent up a smell suggestive of an unventilated 
grocery. The flour had sifted between the staves of the 
barrel, the molasses had dripped somewhat, the box of 
soap had broken open and a single bar had been fastened 
to the carpet by the seal of a boot-heel of heroic size. 
Sophronia stepped into little pools of molasses, and the 
effect seemed to* be that the carpet rose to bestow sweet 
clinging kisses upon the dainty feet of the loveliest of her 
sex. 

“ Horrible !” ejaculated Sophronia. 

“ And here come the trucks,” said I, looking out of the 
window, “ and the one with the parlor furniture is in 
front.” 

Fortunately, the truckmen were good-tempered and 
amenable to reason, expressed by means of currency ; so we 
soon had the provisions moved into the kitchen. Then the 
senior truckman kindly consented to dispose of an old tar- 
paulin, at about twice the price of a piece of velvet carpet 
of similar size, and this we spread upon the parlor floor 
while the furniture should be brought in. Sophronia 
assumed the direction of proceedings, but it soon became 
evident that she was troubled. 

“ The room, evidently, was not arranged for this furni- 
ture,” said she. 

And she spoke truthfully. We had purchased a lounge, 
a large centre-table, an efagere, a Turkish chair, two recep- 


362 


A NOVEL PLACE FOR A PIANO. 


tion chairs, four chairs to match the lounge, a rocker or 
two, an elegant firescreen, and several other articles of fur- 
niture, and there was considerable difficulty experienced, 
not only in arranging them, but in getting them into the 
parlor at all. Finally, the senior truckman spoke : 

“ The only way to git everythin’ in, is to fix ’em the way 
we do at the store — set ’em close together.” 

He spoke truly ; and Sophronia, with a sigh, assented 
to such an arrangement, suggesting that we could rearrange 
the furniture afterward, and stipulating only that the 
lounge should be placed in the front of the room. This 
done, there were three-and-a-half feet of space between the 
front of the lounge and the inside of the window-casings. 

We can, at least, sit upon it and lose our souls in the 
dying glories of the sun upon the eternal hills, and — “ Gra- 
cious, Pierre, where’s the piano, to go ?” 

Sure enough ; and the piano was already at the door. 
The senior truckman cast his professional eye at the vacant 
space, and spoke : 

“ You can put it right there,” said he. “ There won’t be 
no room fur the stool to go behind it ; but if you put the 
key-board to the front, an’ open the winder, you can stand 
out doors an’ play.” 

Sophronia eyed the senior truckman suspiciously for a 
moment, but not one of his honest facial muscles moved 5 
so Sophronia exclaimed : 

“ True. And how romantic !” 

While the piano was being placed I became conscious 
of some shocking language being used on the stairway 
Looking out I saw two truckmen and the headboard of our 
new bedstead inextricably mixed on the stairs. 

“Why don’t you go on?” I asked. 

The look which one of the truckmen gave me I shall not 
forget until my dying day ; the man’s companion remarked 
that when (qualified) fools bought furniture for such (doubly 
qualified) houses, they ought to have brains enough to get 
things small enough to get up the (trebly qualified) stairs. 


HIGH BEDSTEADS AND LOW CEILINGS. 363 

I could not deny the logic of this statement, impious as 
were the qualifying adjectives which were used thereupon. 
But something had to be done ; we could not put the bed- 
stead together upon the stairway and sleep upon it there, 
even were there not other articles of furniture imperatively 
demanding a right of way. 

“ Try to get it down again,” said I. 

They tried, and, after one mighty effort, succeeded ; they 
also brought down several square yards of ceiling plaster 
and the entire handrail of the stair. 

‘‘ Think the ceilings of these rooms is high enough to let 
that bed stand up ?” asked the senior truckman. 

I hastily measured the height of the ceilings, and then 
of the bedstead, and found the latter nearly eighteen inches 
too high. Then I called Sophronia : the bedstead was of 
her selection, and was an elegant sample of fine woods and 
excessive ornamentation. It was a precious bit of furniture, 
but time was precious, too. The senior truckman suggested 
that the height of the bedstead might be reduced about two 
feet by the removal of the most lofty ornament, and that a 
healthy man could knock it off with his fist. 

“ Let it be done,” said Sophronia. “ What matter ? A 
king discrowned is still a king at heart” 

The senior truckman aimed a deadly blow with a cart- 
rung, and the bedstead filled its appointed place. The re- 
maining furniture followed as fast as could be expected; we 
soon gave up the idea of getting it all into the house ; but 
the woodhouse was spacious and easy of access, so we 
stowed there important portions of three chamber sets, a 
gem of a sideboard, the Turkish chair, which had been 
ordered for the parlor, and the hat-rack, which the hall was 
too small to hold. We also deposited in the woodhouse all 
the pictures, in their original packages. 

At length the trucks were emptied ; the senior truck- 
man smiled sweetly as I passed a small fee into his hand ; 
then he looked thoughtfully at the roof of the cottage, and 
remarked ; 


364 


‘‘frowsy head’s” discomfort. 


“ It’s none of my business, I know ; but I bate to see 
nice things spiled. I’d watch that roof, ef I was you, the 
fust time it rained.” 

I thanked him ; he drove off ; I turned and accepted the 
invitation which was presented by Sophronia’s outstretched 
arms. 

“ Oh, Pierre !” she exclaimed ; “ at last we are in our own 
home ! No uncongenial spirits about us — ^no one to molest 
or annoy — no unsympathetic souls to stifle our ardent pas- 
sion for Nature and the work of her free, divine hands.” 

A frowsy head suddenly appeared at the dining-room 
door, and a voice which accompanied it remarked : 

“Didn’t they bring in any stove, ma’am?” 

Sophronia looked inquiringly at me, and I answered : 

“ No !” looking very blank at the same time. 

‘ Then how am I to make a fire to cook with ?” asked 
the girl. 

“ In the range, of course,” said Sophronia. 

Our domestic’s next remark had, at least, the effect of 
teaching what was her nationality : 

“An’ do ye think that I’d ax fur a sthove av dhere was a 
range in the house ? Dhivil a bit !” 

“ Never mind, dear,” said I soothingly ; “ I’m an old 
soldier ; I’ll make a fire out of doors, and give you as nice 
a cup of tea and plate of hot biscuit as you ever tasted. 
And I’ll order a stove the first thing in the morning.” 

Sophronia consented, and our domestic was appeased. 
Then I asked the domestic to get some water while I should 
make the fire. The honest daughter of toil was absent for 
many moments, and when she returned, it was to report, 
with some excitement, that there was neither well nor cistern 
on the premises. 

Then I grew angry, and remarked, in Sophronia’s hear- 
ing, that we were a couple of fools, to take a house without 
first proving whether the agent had told the truth. But 
Sophronia, who is a consistent optimist, rebuked me for my 
want of faith in the agent. 


A CnATimNG PASTOEAL PICTURE. 365 

“ Pierre,” said she, “ it is unmanly to charge a fellow- 
man with falsehood upon the word of a menial. 1 know 
that agent tells the truth, for he has such liquid blue eyes ; 
besides, his house is right next to the Presbyterian 
Church.” 

Either one of these powerful arguments was sufficient to 
silence me, of course ; so I took the pail, and sought well 
and cistern myself. But if either was on the place, it was 
so skillfully secreted that I could not find the slightest out- 
ward evidence of it. Finally, to be thorough, I paced the 
garden from front to rear, over lines not more than ten feet 
apart, and then scrutinized the fence-corners. 

While at this work, I was approached by a gentleman, 
who seemed to come from a house two or three hundred 
yards off. 

“ Moved into the cottage, it seems,” said he. 

“ Yes,” I replied. “ Do you know the place ? The agent 
said there was excellent water here, but I can’t find it.” 

“ He meant there was good water in my well, where all 
occupants of the cottage have drawn water for several years. 
The well belonging to your place was covered up when the 
road was cut through, a few years ago, and neighbor Hubbell 
— well, I don’t say anything against him — neighbors must 
be neighborly, but folks do say he’s too stingy to dig a new 
well. That’s the reason the cottage hasn’t been occupied 
much for the last few years. But everybody is welcome to 
draw from my well — come along.” 

I followed the kind-hearted man, but I wished that the 
liquid depth of the agent’s blue eyes had a proper parallel 
upon the estate which he had imposed upon me. I re- 
turned^as full of wrath as my pail was of water, when, across 
the fen6e, I saw Sophronia’s face, so suffused with tender 
exaltation, that admiration speedily banished ill nature. 

But it was for a brief moment only, for Sophronia’s 
finely- cut lips parted and their owner exclaimed : 

“ Oh, Pierre ! What a charming pastoral picture — you 
and the pail, and the lawn as a background ! I wish wo 


366 


A DISCOVEKY. 


might always have to get water from our neighbor’s 
well.” 

We retired early, and in the delightful quiet of our rural 
retreat, with the moon streaming through our chamber 
window, Sophronia became poetic, and I grew too peaceful 
and happy even to harbor malice against the agent. The 
eastern sun found his way through the hemlocks to wake us 
in the morning, and the effect was so delightfully different 
from the rising bell of the boarding-house, that when 
Sophronia indulged in some freedom with certain of Whit- 
tier’s lines, and exclaimed : 

“ Sad is the man who never sees 
The sun shine throucrh his hemlock trees.” 

I appreciated her sentiment, and expressed my regard in a 
loving kiss. Again I made a fire out of doors, boiled coffee, 
fried ham ’and eggs, made some biscuit, begged some milk 
of our neighbor, and then we had a delightful little break- 
fast. Then I started for the station. 

“ Don’t forget the stove, dear,” said Sophronia, as she 
gave me a parting kiss ; “ and be sure to send a butcher, 
and baker, and grocer, and ” 

Just then our domestic appeared and remarked : 

‘‘ Arah ye may as well get another girl ; the likes ai me 
isn’t goin’ to bring wather from half-a-mile away.” 

Sophronia grew pale, but she lost not an atom of her 
saintly calmness ; she only said, half to herself : 

“ Poor thing ! she hasn’t a bit of poetry in her soul.” 

When I returned in the evening, I found Sophronia in 
tears. The stove men had not quite completed their work, 
so Sophronia and her assistant had eaten nothing but dry 
bread since breakfast. The girl interrupted us to say that 
the stove was ready, but that she couldn’t get either coal or 
wood, and would I just come and see why? I descended 
five of the cellar stairs, but the others were covered with 
water, and upon the watery expanse about me floated the 
wagon-load of wood I had purchased. The coal heap, 
under a window fifteen feet away, loomed up like a rugged 


AN IMPRESSIVE STEP. 


367 

crag of basaltic rock. I took soundings with a stick and 
found the water was rather more than two feet deep. For- 
tunately, there were among my war relics a pair of boots as 
long as the legs of their owner, so I drew these on and 
descended the stairs with shovel and coal scuttle. The 
boots had not been oiled in ten years, so they found 
accommodation for several quarts of water. As I strode 
angrily into the kitchen and set the scuttle down with a 
suddenness which shook the floor, Sophronia clapped her 
hands in ecstasy. 

“Pierre,” she exclaimed, “you look like the picture of 
the sturdy retainers of the old English barons. O, I do 
hope that water won’t go away very soon. The rattling of 
the water in your boots makes your step so impressive.” 

I found that in spite of the hunger from which she had 
suffered, Sophronia had not been idle during the day. She 
had coaxed the baker’s man to open the cases of pictures, 
and she and the domestic had carried each picture to the 
room in which it was to hang. The highest ceiling in the 
house was six and a half feet from the floor, whereas our 
smallest picture measured three feet and a half in height. 
But Sophronia’s art-loving soul was not to be daunted ; the 
pictures being too large to hang, she had leaned them 
against the walls. 

“ It’s such an original idea,” said she ; “ and then, too, 
it gives each picture such an unusual effect — don’t you 
think so?” 

I certainly did. 

We spent the evening in trying to make our rooms lock 
less like furniture warehouses, but succeeded only partly. 
We agreed, too, that we could find something for painters 
and kalsominers to do, for the ceilings and walls were 
blotched and streaked so much that our pretty furniture 
and carpets only made the plastering look more dingy. 
But when again we retired, and our lights were out, and 
only soft moonbeams relieved the darkness, our satisfaction 
with our new house filled us with pleasant dreams, which 


368 


A SnOWETl-BATH. 


we exchanged before sleeping. After falling asleep, I 
dreamed of hearing a wonderful symphony performed by 
an unseen orchestra ; it seemed as if Liszt might have com- 
posed it, and as if the score was particularly strong in 
trombones and drums. Then the scene changed, and I was 
on a ship in a storm at sea ; the gale was blowing my hair 
about, and huge rain-drops occasionally struck my face. 
Sophronia was by my side ; but, instead of glorying with 
me in meeting the storm-king in his home, she complained 
bitterly of the rain. The unaccountable absence of her 
constitutional romanticism provoked me, and I remonstrated 
so earnestly, that the etfort roused me to wakefulness. 
But Sophronia’s complaining continued. I had scarcely 
realized that I was in a cottage chamber instead of on a 
ship’s deck, when Sophronia exclaimed : 

“ Pierre, I wonder if a shower-bath hasn’t been arranged 
just where our bed stands ? because drops of water are fall- 
ing in my face once in a while. They are lovely and cool, 
but they trickle off on the pillow, and that doAt feel nice.” 

I lit a candle, and examined the ceiling ; directly over 
Sophronia’s head there was a heavy blotch, from the centre 
of which the water was dropping. 

“ Another result of taking that liquid blue-eyed agent’s 
word,” I growled, hastily moving the bed and its occupant, 
and setting the basin on the floor to catch the water and 
save the carpet. 

‘‘ Why, Pierre !” exclaimed Sophronia, as I blew out the 
light, “ how unjust you are. Who could expect an agent to 
go over the roof like a cat, and examine each shingle ? Gra- 
cious ! it’s dropping here, too !” 

Again I lighted the candle and moved the bed, but 
before I had time to retire Sophronia complained that a 
stream was trickling down upon her feet. The third time 
the bed was moved water dropped down upon my pillow, 
and the room was too small to re-locate the bed so that 
none of these unauthorized hydrants should moisten us. 
Then we tried our spare chamber, but that was equally 
damp. 


AN EXPEDIENT. 


369 


Suddenly I bethought myself of another war relic ; and, 
hurrying to an old trunk, extracted an india-rubber blanket. 
This, if we kept very close together, kept the water out, but 
almost smothered us. We changed our positions by sitting 
up, back to back, and dropping the rubber blanket over our 
heads. By this arrangement the air was allowed to circu- 
late freely, and we had some possibilities of conversation 
left us ; but the effect of the weight of the blanket resting 
largely upon our respective noses was somewhat depressing. 
Suddenly Sophronia remarked : 

‘‘ Oh, Pierre ! this reminds me of those stories you used 
to tell me, of how you and all your earthly treasures used 
to hide under this blanket from the rain !” 

The remark afforded an opportunity for a very graceful 
reply, but four hours elapsed before I saw it. Sophronia 
did not seem hurt by my negligence, but almost instantly 
continued : 

“ It would be just like war, if there was only some shoot- 
ing going on. Can’t you fire your revolver out of the 
window, Pierre ?” 

“I could,” I replied, “if that blue-eyed agent was any- 
where within range.” 

“ Why, Pierre, I think you’re dreadfully unjust to that 
poor man. He can’t go sleeping around in all the rooms 
of each of his cottages every time there’s a rainstorm, to see 
if they leak. Besides — oh, Pierre ! I’ve a brilliant idea ! It 
can’t be wet doAvn-stairs.” 

True. I was so engrossed by different plans of revenge, 
that I had not thought of going into the parlor or dining-room 
to sleep. We moved to the parlor; Sophronia took the 
lounge, while I found the floor a little harder than I 
supposed an ex-soldier could ever find any plane surface. 
It did not take me long, however, to learn that the parlor- 
floor was not a plane surface. It contained a great many 
small elevations which kept me awake for the remainder of 
the night, wondering what they could be. At early dawn I 
was as far from a satisfactory theory as ever, and I hastily 


370 


NOT STIPULATED IN THE LEASE. 


loosened one end of the carpet and looked under. The pro- 
tuberances were knots in the flooring boards. In the days 
when the sturdy patriots of New Jersey despised such 
monarchical luxuries as carpets, the soft portions of these 
boards had been slowly worn away, but the knots — every 
one has heard the expression “as tough as a pine knot.” 
Fortunately, we had indulged in a frightfully expensive rug, 
and upon this I sought and found a brief period of repose 
and forgetfulness. 

While we were at the breakfast-table our girl appeared, 
with red eyes and a hoarse voice, and remarked that now 
she must leave ; she had learned to like us, and she loved 
the country, but she had an aged parent whose sole support 
she was, and could not afford to risk her life in such a 
house. 

“ Let her go,” said Sophronia. “ If variety is the spice 
of life, why shouldn’t the rule apply to servants ?” 

“ Perhaps it does, my dear,” I replied ; “ but if we have 
to pay each girl a month’s wages for two or three days of 
work, the spice will be more costly than enjoyable — eh ?” 

Immediately after breakfast I sought the agent. I sup- 
posed he would meet me with downcast eyes and averted 
head, but he did nothing of the kind; he extended his 
hand cordially, and said he was delighted to see me. 

“ That roof,” said I, getting promptly to business, “leaks 
— well, it’s simply a sieve. And you told me the house was 
dry.” 

“ So the owner told me, sir ; of course you can’t expect 
us to inspect the hundreds of houses we handle in a year.” 

“Well, however that may be, the owner is mistaken, 
and he must repair the roof at once.” 

The agent looked thoughtful. “ If you had wished the 
landlord to make necessary repairs, you should have so 
stipulated in the lease. The lease you have signed pro- 
vides that all repairs shall be made at your own expense.” 

“ Did the landlord draw up the lease ?” I asked, flxing 
my eye severely upon the agent’s liquid orbs. But the 


ROOF — ROOFERS — ROOFING. 371 

agent met my gaze with defiance and an expression of 
injured dignity. 

“ I asked you whether you would have the usual form of 
lease,” sMd the agent, “ and you replied, ‘ Certainly.’ ” 

I abruptly left the agent’s presence, went to a lumber 
yard near by, and asked where I could find the best carpen- 
ter in town. He happened to be on the ground purchasing 
some lumber, and to him I made known my troubles, and 
begged him to hasten to my relief. The carpenter was a 
man of great decision of character, and he replied promptly, 
ciphering on a card in the meantime : 

“ No you don’t. Every carpenter in town has tried his 
hand on that roof, and made it worse than before. The 
only way to make it tight is to re-shingle it all over. That’ll 
cost you $67.50, unless the scantling is too rotten to hold the 
nails, in which case the job’ll cost you $18.75 more. I guess 
the rafters are strong enough to hold together a year or two 
longer.” 

I made some excuse to escape the carpenter and his 
dreadful figures, and he graciously accepted it ; doubtless the 
perfect method in which he did it was the result of frequent 
interviews with other wretched beings who had leased the 
miserable house which I had taken into my confidence. I 
determined to plead with the landlord, whose name I knew, 
and I asked a chance acquaintance on the train if he knew 
where I could find the proprietor of my house. 

“ Certainly,” said he ; “ there he is in the opposite seat 
but one, reading a religious weekly.” 

I looked ; my heart sank within me, and my body sank 
into a seat. A cold-eyed, hatchet-faced man, from whom 
not even the most eloquent beggar could hope to coax 
a penny. Of what use would it be to try to persuade him to 
spend sixty-seven dollars and fifty cents on something which 
I had agreed to take care of. Something had to be done, 
however, so I wasted most of the day in consulting New 
York roofers. The conclusion of the whole matter was that 
I spent about thirty dollars for condemned ‘‘flies” from 


372 


SEEKING PATRONAGE. 


“ hospital” tents, and had these drawn tightly over the roof. 
When this was done the appearance of the house was such 
that I longed for an incendiary who would compel me to 
seek a new residence ; but when Sophronia gazed upon the 
roof she clapped her hands joyfully, and exclaimed : 

“Pierre, it will be almost as nice as living in a tent, 
to have one on the roof; it looks just the same, you knovr, 
until your eyes get down to the edge of it.” 

There was at least one comfort in living at Villa Valley: 
the people were very intelligent and sociable, and we soon 
made many pleasant acquaintances. But they all had 
something dreadful to suggest about our house. A doctor, 
who was a remarkably fine fellow, said he would be glad of 
my patronage, and didn’t doubt that he would soon have it, 
unless I had the cellar pumped out at once.'. Then Mrs. 
Blathe, the leader of society in the village, told my wife how 
a couple who once lived in our cottage always had chills, 
though no one else at Villa Valley had the remotest idea of 
what a chill was. The several coal dealers in the village 
competed in the most lively manner for our custom, and 
when I mentioned the matter, in some surprise, to my 
grocer, he remarked that they knew what houses needed 
most coal to keep them warm the year through, and worked 
for custom accordingly. A deacon, who was sociable but 
solemn, remarked that some of his most sweetly mournful 
associations clustered about our cottage — he had followed 
several of its occupants to their long homes. 

And yet, as the season advanced, and the air was too dry 
to admit of dampness anywhere, and the Summer breezes 
blew in the windows and doors whole clouds of perfume 
from the rank thickets of old-fashioned roses which stood 
about the garden, we became sincerely attached to tha little 
cottage. Then heavy masses of hone^^suckles and vines 
which were trained against the house, grew dense and 
picturesque with foliage, and Sophronia would enjoy hour^ 
of perfect ecstasy, sitting in an easy-chair under the ever- 
greens and gazing at the graceful outlines of the house and 
its verdant ornaments. 


JAPANESE WALL-PAPEE. 


373 


But the cellar was obdurate. It was pumped dry several 
times, but no pump could reach the inequalities in its floor, 
and in August there came a crowd of mosquitoes from the 
water in these small holes. They covered the ceilings and 
walls, they sat in every chair, they sang accompaniments to 
all of Sophronia’s songs, they break'fasted, dined, and 
supped with us and upon us. Sophronia began to resemble 
a person in the first stages of varioloid, yet that incompara- 
ble woman would sit between sunset and dusk, looking, 
through nearly closed eyes, at the walls and ceiling, and 
would remark : 

“ Pierre, when you look at the walls in this way, the 
mosquitoes give them the effect of being papered with some 
of that exquisite new Japanese wall-paper, with its quaint 
spots ; don’t you think so ?” 

Finally September came, and with it the equinoctial 
storm. We lay in bed one night, the wind howling about 
us, and Sophronia rhapsodising, through the medium of 
Longfellow’s lines, about 


“ The storm-wind of the Equinox,” 

when we heard a terrific crash, and then the sound of a falling 
body which shook the whole house. Sophronia clasped me 
wildly and began to pray ; but I speedily disengaged myself, 
lighted a candle, and sought the cause of our disturbance. 
I found it upon the hall-floor : it was the front-door and its 
entire casing, both of which, with considerable plaster, 
lathing, and rotten wood, had been torn from its place by 
the fury of the storm. 

In the morning I sought a printer, with a small but 
strong manuscript which I had spent the small hours of the 
night in preparing. It bore this title, “ The House I Live 
In.” The printer gave me the proof the same day, and 
I showed it to the owner of the house the same evening, 
remarking that I should mail a copy to every resident of Villa 
Valley, and have one deposited in every Post Office box in 


374 


MY LEASE CANCELED. 


Kew York City. The owner offered to cancel my lease if I 
would give up my unkind intention, and I consented. Then 
we hired a new cottage {not from the agent with the liquid 
blue eyes), and, before accepting it, I examined it as if it 
were to be my residence to ail eternity. Yet when all our 
household goods were removed, and Sophronia and I took 
our final departure, the gentle mistress of my home turned 
regretfully, burst into tears, and sobbed : 

“ Oh, Pierre ! in spite of everything, it is a love jf a 
cottage.” 



THE BLEIGHTON EIYALS. 


HE village of Bleighton contained as many affectionate 



± young people as any other place of its size, and was 
not without young ladies, for the possession of whose hearts 
two or more young men strove against each other. When, 
however, allusion was ever made to ‘‘ the rivals ” no one 
doubted to whom the reference applied : it was always un- 
derstood that the young men mentioned were those two of 
Miss Florence Elserly’s admirers for whom Miss Elserly 
herself seemed to have more regard than she manifested 
toward any one else. 

There has always been some disagreement among the 
young ladies of Bleighton as to Miss Elserly’s exact rank 
among beauties, but there was no possibility of doubt that 
Miss Elserly attracted more attention than any other lady 
in the town, and that among her admirers had been every 
young man among whom other Bleighton ladies of taste 
would have chosen their life-partners had the power of 
choosing pertained to their own sex. 

The good young men of the village, the successful busi- 
ness men who were bachelors, and the stylish young fellows 
who came from the neighboring city in the Summer, bowed 
before Miss Elserly as naturally as if fate, embodied in the 
person of the lady herself, commanded them. 

How many proposals Miss Elserly had received no one 
knew ; for two or three years no one was able to substan- 
tiate an opinion, from the young lady’s walk and conversa- 
tion, that she specially preferred any one of her personal 


376 


THE THEOLOGICAL STUDENT. 


acquaintances; but at length it became evident that she 
evinced more than the interest of mere acquaintanceship in 
Hubert Brown, the best of the native-born young men of 
the village. 

Mr. Brown was a theological student, but the march of 
civilization had been such at Bleighton that a prospective 
shepherd of souls might listen to one of Beethoven’s sym- 
phonies in a city opera-house without having any sin imputed 
unto him ! Such music-loving inhabitants of Bleighton as 
listened to one of these symphonies, which was also heard by 
Mr. Brown and Miss Elserly, noticed that when the young 
couple exchanged words and glances, Miss Elserly’s well- 
trained features were not so carefully guarded as they 
usually were in society. Such ladies as had nothing to do, 
and even a few who were not without pressing demands 
upon their time, canvassed the probabilities of the match 
quite exhaustively, and made some prophecies, but were 
soon confused by the undoubted fact that Miss Elserly drove 
out a great deal with Major Mailing, the dashing ex-soldier, 
and successful broker from the city. 

The charm of uncertainty being thus added to the ordi- 
nary features of interest which pertain to all persons sus- 
pected of being in love, made Miss Elserly’s affairs of 
unusual importance to every one who knew the young lady 
even by sight, and for three whole months the rivals ” were 
a subject of conversation next in order to the weather. At 
length there came a day when the case seemed decided. For 
three days Hubert Brown’s face was very seldom seen on the 
street, and when seen it was longer and more solemn than 
was required even by that order of sanctity in which theo- 
logical students desire to live. 

Then it was noticed that whil5 Miss Elserly’s beauty 
grew no less in degree, it changed in kind ; that she was 
more than ever seen in the society of the handsome broker, 
and that the broker’s attentions were assiduous. Then it was 
suspected that Mr. Brown had proposed and been rejected. 
Ladies who owed calls to Mr. Brown’s mother, made haste 


SOME DISAPPOINTED FOLKS. 


377 


to pay them, and, as rewards of merit, brought away con- 
firmation of the report. Then, before the gossips had 
reported the probable engagement of Miss Elserly to Major 
Mailing, the lady and major made the announcement them- 
selves to their intimate friends, and the news quickly 
reached every one who cared to hear it. 

A few weeks later, however, there circulated very rapidly 
a story whose foreshadowing could not have been justly 
expected of the village gossips. The major absented him- 
self for a day or two from his boarding-house, and at a time, 
too, when numerous gentlemen from the city came to call 
upon him. 

Some of these callers returned hurriedly to the city, 
evincing by words and looks the liveliest disappointment, 
while two of them, after considerable private conversation 
with the proprietress of the house, and after displaying 
some papers, in the presence of a local justice of the peace, 
to whom the good old lady sent in her perplexity, took 
possession of the major’s room and made quite free with the 
ex- warrior’s cigars, liquors, and private papers. 

Then the city newspapers told how Mr. Mailing, a 
broker of excellent abilitj’ and reputation, as well as one of 
the most gallant of his country’s defenders in her hour of 
need, had been unable to meet his engagements, and had 
also failed to restore on demand fifteen thousand dollars in 
United States bonds which had been intrusted to him for 
safe-keeping. A warrant had been issued for Mr. Mailing’s 
arrest, but at last accounts the officers had been unable to 
find him. 

Miss Elserly immediately went into the closest retire- 
ment, and even girls whom she had robbed of prospective 
beaus felt sorry for her. People began to suggest’ that 
there might have been a chance for Brown, after all, if he 
had staid at home, instead of rushing off to the West to 
play missionary. He owned more property in his own right 
than the major had misplaced for other people ; and though 
some doubts were expressed as to Miss Elserly’s fitness 


378 


MR. brown’s business. 


for the position of a minister’s wife, the matter was no less 
interesting as a subject for conversation. The excellence of 
the chance which both Brown and Miss Elserly had lost 
seemed even greater when it became noised abroad that 
Brown had written to some real estate agents in the village 
thatj as he might wanl: to go into business in the West, to 
sell for him, for cash, a valuable farm which his father had 
left him. As for the business which Mr. Brown proposed 
entering, the reader may form his own opinions from a little 
conversation hereinafter recorded. 

As Hubert Brown, trying to drown thought and do good, 
was wandering through a Colorado town one evening, he 
found himself face to face with Major Mailing. The major 
looked seedy, and some years older than he did a month 
before, but his pluck was unchanged. Seeing that an inter- 
view could not be avoided, he assumed an independent air, 
and exclaimed : 

“ Why, Brown, what did you do that you had to come 
West?” 

“ Nothing,” said the student, flushing a little — “ except 
be useless.” 

thought,” said the major, quickly, with a desperate 
but sickly attempt at pleasantry, “ that you had gone in for 
Florence again ; she’s worth all your ‘ lost sheep of the 
house of Israel.’ ” 

“ I don’t make love to women who love other men,” re- 
plied Brown. 

“ Don’t, please. Brown,” said the major, turning manly 
in a moment. “ I feel worse about her than about all my 
creditors or those infernal bonds. I got into the snarl before 
I knew her ; that’s the only way I can quiet my conscience. 
Of course the — matter is all up now. I wrote her as good 
an apology as I could, and a release ; she’d have taken the 
latter without my giving it, but ” 

“ No she wouldn’t,” interrupted the student. 

“How do you know?” demanded the major, with a sus- 
picious glance, which did not escape Brown. “Did you 


THE major’s ‘‘solid COMFORT.” 379 

torment her by proposing again npon the top of her other 
troubles ?” 

“ No,” said Brown ; “ don’t be insulting. But I know 
that she keeps herself secluded, and that her looks and 
spirits are dreadfully changed. If she cared nothing for 
you, she knows society would cheerfully forgive her if she 
were to show it.” 

“ I wish to Satan that I hadn’t met you^ then,” said the 
major. “ I’ve taken solid comfort in the thought that most 
likely she was again the adored of all adorers, and was for- 
getting me, as she has so good a right to do.” 

“ Major,” said Brown, bringing his hand down on the 
major’s shoulder in a manner suggestive of a deputy sheriff. 
“ you ought to go back to that girl !” 

“And fail,” suggested the major. “Thank you; and 
allow me to say you’re a devilish queer fellow for suggest- 
ing it. Is it part of your religion to forgive a successful 
rival?” 

“ It’s part of my religion, when I love, to love the woman 
more than I love myself,” said Brown, with a face in which* 
pain and earnestness strove for the mastery. “She loves 
you. I loved her, and want to see her happy.” 

The defaulter grasped the student’s hand. 

“ Brown,” said he, “ you’re one of God’s noblemen ; sht 
told me so once, but I didn’t imagine then that I’d ever own 
up to it myself. It can’t be done, though ; she can’t marry 
a man in disgrace — I can’t ask a woman to marry me on 
nothing ; and, besides, there’s the matter of those infernal 
bonds. I cwfCi clear that up, and keep out of the sheriff’s 
fingers.” 

“ I can,” said Brown. 

“ How ?” asked the ex-broker, with staring eyes. 

“ I’ll lend the money.” 

The major dropped Brown’s hand. 

“ You heavenly lunatic!” said he. “I always did think 
religion made fools of men when they got too much of it 
Then I could go back on the Street again ; the boys would 


8S0 


BECOJ^IES A BUSINESS MAN AGAIN. 


be glad to see me clear myself — not meeting my engage- 
ments wouldn’t be remembered against me. But, say — 
boiTow money from an old rival to make myself right with 
the girl /le loved ! No, excuse me. I’ve got some sense of 
honor left I” 

“ You mean you love yourself more than you do her/* 
suggested Brown. “I’ll telegraph about the money, and 
you write her in the meantime. Don’t ruin her happiness for 
life by delay or trifling.’* 

The major became a business man again. 

“Brown,” said he, “I’ll take your offer; and, whatever 
comes of it, you’ll have one friend you can swear to as long 
as I live. You haven’t the money with you ?” 

“No,” said Brown; “but you shall have it in a fortnight. 
I’ll telegraph about it, and go East and settle the business 
for you, so you can come back without fear.” 

“ You’re a trump ; l^ut — don’t think hard of me — money’s 
never certain till you have it in hand. I’ll write and send 
my letter East by you ; when the matter’s absolutely set- 
tled, you can telegraph me, and mail her my letter. I’d 
expect to be shot if I made such a proposal to any other 
rival, but you’re not a man — ^you’re a saint. Confound you, 
all the sermons I ever heard hadn’t as much real goodness 
in them as I’ve heard the last ten minutes ! But ’twould be 
awful for me to write and then have the thing slip up !” 

Brown admitted the justice of the major’s plan, and 
took the major to his own hotel to keep him from bad com- 
pany. 

During the whole evening the major talked about busi- 
ness ; but when, after a night of sound sleep, the stu- 
dent awoke, he found the major pacing his room with a 
very pale face, and heard him declare that he had not slept 
a wink. 

Brown pitied the major in his nervous condition and did 
what he could to alleviate it. He talked to him of Florence 
Elserly, of whom he seemed never to tire of talking; he 
spoke to him of his own work and hopes. He tried to pic- 


PLEASING AN “UNEARTHLY FELLOW." 381 

ture to the major the happy future which was awaiting him, 
bufc still the major was unquiet and absent-minded. Brown 
called in a physician, to whom he said his friend was suffer- 
ing from severe mental depression, brought on by causes 
now removed ; but the doctor’s prescriptions failed to have 
any effect. Finally, when Brown was to start for the East, 
the major, paler and thinner than ever, handed him a letter 
addressed to Miss Elserly. 

“ Brown,” said the major, “ I believe you won’t lose any 
money by your goodness. I can make money when I am 
not reckless, and I’ll make it my duty to be careful until 
you are paid. The rest I can't pay, but I’m going to try to 
be. as good a man as you are. That’s the sort of compensa- 
tion that’ll please such an unearthly fellow best, I guess.” 

"When Hubert Brown reached Bleighton, he closed with 
the best offer that had been made for his farm, though the 
offer itself was one which made the natives declare that 
Hubert Brown had taken leave of his senses. Then he set- 
tled with the loser of the bonds, saw one or two of the 
major’s business acquaintances, and prepared the way for 
the major’s return ; then he telegraphed the major himself. 
Lastly, he dressed himself with care and called upon Miss 
Elserly. Before sending up his card, he penciled upon it 
“ayec ncuvelles a lirCf" which words the servant scanned with 
burning curiosity, but of which she could remember but 
one, when she tried to repeat them to the grocer’s young 
man, and this one she pronounced “ arick,” as was natural 
enough in a lady of her nationality. This much of the mes- 
sage was speedily circulated through the town, and caused 
at least one curious person to journey to a great library in 
the city in quest of a Celtic dictionary. As for the recipient 
of the card, she met her old lover with a face made more 
bhan beautiful by the conflicting emotions which manifested 
themselves in it. The interview was short. Mr. Brown 
said he had accidentally met the major and had successfully 
acted as his agent in relieving him from his embarrassments. 
He k‘*ld the pleasure of delivering a letter from the major, 


382 


AN EVIDENT MISUNDERSTANDINa 


and hoped it might make Miss Elserly as happy to receive 
it as it made him to present it. Miss Elserly expressed her 
thanks, and then Mr. Brown said : 

“ Pardon a bit of egotism and reference to an unpleasant 
subject, Miss Elserly, Once I told you that I loved you; 
in this matter of the major’s, I have been prompted solely 
by a sincere desire for your happiness; and by acting in 
this spirit I have entirely taken the pain out of my old 
wound. Mayn’t I, therefore, as the major’s most sincere 
well-wisher, enjoy once more your friendship ?” 

Miss Elserly smiled sweetly, and extended her hand, and 
Hubert Brown went home a very happy man. Yet, when 
he called again, several evenings later, he was not as happy 
as he had hoped to be in Miss Elserly’s society, for the lady 
herself, though courteous and cordial, seemed somewhat 
embarrassed and distrait^ and interrupted the young man 
on several occasions when he spoke in commendation of 
some good quality of the major’s. Again he called, and 
again the same strange embarrassment, though less in- 
degree, manifested itself. Finally, it disappeared alto- 
gether, ^nd Miss Elserly began to recover her health and 
spirits. Even then she did not exhibit as tender an interest 
in the major as the student had hoped she would do ; but, 
as the major’s truest friend, he continued to sound his 
praises, and to pay Miss Elserly, in the major’s stead, every 
kind of attention he could devise. 

Finally he learned that the major was in the city, and he 
hastened to inform Miss Elserly, lest, perhaps, she had not 
heard so soon. The lady received the announcement with 
an exquisite blush and downcast eyes, though she admitted 
that the major had himself apprised her of his safe arrival. 
On this particular evening the lady seemed to Mr. Brown 
to be personally more charming than ever; yet, on ttie 
other hand, the old embarrassment was so painfully evi- 
dent that Mr. Brown made an early departure. Arrived 
at home he found a letter from the major which read as 
follows : 


THE EXPLANATION. 


383 


“ My deae old Fellow. — From tlie day on which I met 
yon in Colorado I’ve been trying to live after your pattern ; 
how I succeeded on the third day, you may guess from in- 
closed, which is a copy of a letter I sent to Florence by you. 
Fve only just got her permission to send it to you, though 
I ve teased her once a week on the subject. God bless you, 
old fellow. Don’t worry on my account, for I’m really 
happy. Yours truly, Malling.” 

With wondering eyes Hubert Brown read the inclosure, 
which read as follows : 

“Miss Elserly — Three days ago, while a fugitive from 
justice, yet honestly loving you more than I ever loved any 
other being, I met Hubert Brown. He has cared for me as 
if I was his dearest friend ; he is going to make good my 
financial deficiencies, and restore me to respectability. He 
cannot have done this out of love for me, for he knows noth- 
ing of me but that which should make him hate me, on both 
personal and moral grounds. He says he did it because he 
loved you, and because he wants to see you happy. Miss 
Elserly, such love cannot be a thing of the past only, and it 
is so great that in comparison with it the best love that 1 
have ever given you seems beneath your notice. He is beg- 
ging me to go back for your sake ; he is constantly talking 
to me about you in a tone and with a look that shows how 
strong is the feeling he is sacrificing, out of sincere regard 
for you. Miss Elserly, I never imagined the angels loving as 
purely and strongly as he does. He tells me you still retain 
some regard for me ; the mere thought is so great a comfort 
that I cannot bear to reason seriously about it ; yet, if any 
such feelings exist, I must earnestly beg of you, out of the 
sincere and faithful affection I have had for you, to give up 
all thought of me for ever, and give yourself entirely to that 
most incomparable lover, Hubert Brown. 

“ Forgive my intrusion and advice. I give it because the 
remembrance of our late relations will assure you of the 


384 


PLEADING FOE THE MAJOR. 


honesty and earnestness of my meaning. I excuse myself by 
the thought that to try to put into such noble keeping the 
dearest treasure that I ever possessed, is a duty which 
justifies my departure from any conventional rule. I am, 
Miss Elserly, as ever, your worshiper. More than this I 
cannot dare to think of being, after my own fall and the 
overpowering sense I have of the superior worth of another. 
God bless you. Andrew Malung.” 

Mr. Brown hastily laid the letter aside, and*again called 
upon Miss Elserly. 

Again she met him with many signs of the embarrass- 
ment whose cause he now understood so well ; yet as he was 
about to deliver an awkward apology a single look from 
under Miss Elserly’s eyebrows — only a glance, but as 
searching and eloquent as it was swift — stopped his tongue. 
He took Miss Elserly’s hand in his own and stammered : 

“ I came to plead for the major.” 

“ And I shan’t listen to you,” said she, raising her eyes 
with so tender a light in them that Hubert Brown imme- 
diately hid the eyes themselves in his heart, lest the liglit 
should be lost. 










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